Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace.
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go.
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for a living.
But the child that is born on Sabbath day,
is bonny and blithe, good and gay.

—

Daphne Davenport, wearing nothing but her birthday suit, languidly stretched and checked the time on her new Cartier wristwatch, its diamonds catching the dim light from the electric wall sconces as the street lights winked on outside the hotel windows.

“I’m finally gonna fuck your tight teenage pussy,” Tommy Culligan grunted as he slid the sheath onto his cock and approached the bed.

“You’d better hurry up, champ,” Daphne replied, running her fingers through her short black hair. “I turn twenty in a couple of hours, and we don’t even have this room for that long.”

Tommy shook his head in defeat before settling onto the lumpy mattress and carefully easing his dick into her slim, slick slit. Daphne bit her lip to keep from crying out as he tore through her barrier and nestled himself deep inside her.

Tommy was almost at a loss for words as he looked down at her.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Me.”

“That’s the idea,” Daphne giggled. “Now give it to me, T.C., but good!”

They kissed as he pumped in and out of her slowly for a few minutes, then Daphne wrapped her legs around his back and pulled him closer. Tommy encircled her waist with his arm and jackhammered his cock into her while sucking and biting her ripe tits.

“Fuck! Me!” Daphne roared, meeting each thrust with her hips. She wormed one arm between them and rubbed her clit in ragged circles as Tommy continued pounding away.

“Do not stop!” Daphne wailed as her orgasm swelled inside her. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she called out as it crested and crashed.

“I’m... I’m...” Tommy strained.

“Shoot your seed inside me!” Daphne shouted, causing Tommy to falter for a second.

“In the sheath, shtupid!” she shrieked. “Shoot your sheed in the sheaf!”

Squeezing her waist with his arm, he ground their groins together, then groaned as he emptied his bulging ballsack into the rubber receptacle.

“Daaamn!” he swore as he finished. “That was amazing, doll.”

“Ain’t that the tooth!” Daphne exhaled with a giggle.

Tommy rolled off her and propped himself up on one elbow. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” he grinned.

“Jeez, what do you take me for?” Daphne laughed. “I’m not a whore.” She flourished her wrist, making the diamonds sparkle. “Although I positively love this wristwatch you got me for my birthday. Now get dressed and hail me a cab,” she teased as she gave him a final kiss. “I need to get home and freshen up for my party!”

—

“Father,” Daphne began as she wandered into the parlor with her face slathered in cold cream, cinching the belt of her dressing gown around her waist, “What do you think of Tommy?”

“Tommy Culligan?” Harvey replied from his chair absent-mindedly, before folding his newspaper and looking up, momentarily surprised by the ghostly visage hovering over him. “My goodness, you gave me a start. You look like the Phantom of the Opera.”

“I assume you mean before he took off his mask,” Daphne replied with slitted eyes.

“Er, yes, of course.” Harvey cleared his throat. “Tommy seems to be a decent fellow, honest, hard-working...”

“A gangster,” Daphne interrupted with a sigh, flopping backward onto the pale green couch.

“Perhaps,” Harvey acknowledged with a slight smile. “But you’ve seen how the Culligan family operates. They need someone like Tommy to keep his hands clean and be the face of the organization. They certainly aren’t asking him to break anyone’s kneecaps.”

“I can’t believe Jules kept this a secret from me all these years. We’ve been best friends since we were twelve years old!”

“Sweetie, don’t be too hard on her.”

Daphne snorted through her kabuki mask. “You’re the one putting your hard-on in her, Father, not me!”

Harvey sighed and looked to the ceiling.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Daphne giggled. “But why should I give Miss Culligan a mulligan?”

“Think of it this way. Do you recall President Harding’s campaign slogan in 1920, a return to normalcy?”

“Sure, I remember hearing that,” Daphne admitted with a shrug, choosing to leave the obvious Harding/hard-on joke untouched. “But I didn’t really understand it. Everything seemed normal to me.”

“Exactly!” Harvey beamed. “You were too young to remember what normal felt like before the war, before the Spanish flu, before the flappers began turning society on its ear.”

“So what’s your point?”

“You can recognize that Julia’s family isn’t normal, but she had no way of recognizing it herself. She’d never known anything different, so she didn’t realize that the situation wasn’t normal.”

Daphne nodded thoughtfully as her father continued on.

“Remember, Julia was only twelve years old as well. She likely had no idea about the family she’d been born into, no idea that anything was amiss. She may have realized it only recently, and then what reason would she have to tell you?”

“I suppose,” Daphne conceded, flashing a wry smile through her cold cream before imitating Julia’s voice. “Hey Daph, did you get up to anything fun this weekend? I watched my uncles beat up a guy who was behind on his gambling debts!”

“Exactly,” Harvey laughed. “And when Tommy first met you, he wasn’t going to share all the details of the family business.”

“That’s for darned sure,” Daphne rolled her eyes skyward. “But Tommy and I… if we think we’re in love… does that mean we get married because that’s just what everyone does? I don’t think I’m ready to play the part of the mobster’s wife.”

“And maybe you won’t have to,” Harvey observed with a shrug, assuming the role of economics professor. “Throughout history, marriage has been a financial arrangement. Yours is perhaps the first generation that can afford to marry strictly for love, or not marry, if that’s the case. Maybe til death do us part isn’t a necessary part of the equation anymore.”

“Do you think you and Mother will stay married?”

“I think so. This past year has tested our bonds, but I believe we’ll work everything out to our mutual satisfaction.”

“Even though you’re still secretly in love with Jules,” Daphne said, a coy smile creating tiny cracks in her white mask as she rose from the couch. “And maybe she’s still in love with you?”

“Objection, your honor!” Harvey laughed. “Calls for speculation.”

“Withdrawn.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your birthday party instead of pestering me?” Harvey swatted Daphne on the rump with his newspaper as she walked past. “If you aren’t ready in thirty minutes, we’re leaving without you, and it’s a mighty long walk to the Culligan estate in Yonkers!”

—

Til death do us part, Harvey repeated in his head as he sat alone by the fire. What a cheery phrase.

His mind wandered back in time twenty years. Daphne’s birth had been difficult, and the midwife had performed a minor miracle in saving both mother and child on that dark Friday in December. It was the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, and it damn well felt like it.

Delilah’s parents didn’t have long to live themselves, stricken with the consumption—tuberculosis—and they desperately wanted to hold their granddaughter just once. Delilah wouldn’t allow it; the risk of infection was too great.

It was clearly breaking her heart, so one day Harvey bundled their baby daughter up against the cold, hired a cab to the Lower East Side, climbed the fire escape to the fourth-floor tenement, and introduced Daphne to her grandparents through the frosty windowpane.

Sylvia died before another month had passed, and George followed soon after.

Til death do us part, Harvey thought again, then grimaced as another detail of that memory came into view, unbidden.

Georgie.

Delilah had a younger brother, Georgie. Thirteen years old, also dying of the consumption. 

Harvey was there the night George passed away, sitting at his bedside wearing a mask over his nose and mouth.

“Promise me,” the old man rasped through his damp mustache, “zat you vill take care of little Georgie.”

Harvey slowly nodded his assent, and George gave one last rattling cough, smiled weakly, closed his eyes, and gave up the ghost.

Harvey felt for a pulse just to make sure, then bowed his head. He could hear Georgie engaged in a violent fit of coughing from the other room. Take care of little Georgie? I can’t bring him home with me. But I can’t leave him here to die alone. Harvey scraped his chair on the floor as he stood, then went down the hallway and stood at Georgie’s door.

“Uncle Harvey?” Georgie whispered. Harvey was technically his brother-in-law, but uncle had seemed like the best fit.

“Yes, Uncle Georgie?” Harvey replied. It had been their little joke since Georgie’s niece Daphne had been born.

Georgie gave a wan smile through the flecks of blood on his lips. “Is my father feeling all right?”

“He’s sleeping now.” Which was true enough.

“Oh, that’s g—” Georgie’s reply was cut short by another paroxysm of coughing.

Harvey slid a hip flask out of his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and poured a generous slug of whisky into a cloudy glass on the bedside table. “Here, Georgie. Drink this; it’ll help you sleep as well.”

Georgie blinked his watery blue eyes in acknowledgment, then drained off the glass and settled back onto his pillow. After a few minutes, his breathing slowed.

“I’ll go fetch you another pillow,” Harvey said quietly as Georgie drifted off to sleep. “After all,” he continued in a whisper as he walked down the hallway, “I promised I’d take care of you.”

Ten minutes later, Harvey detoured through the basement, tossing a blood-stained pillowcase into the incinerator, before trudging to the all-night drugstore on the corner.

“May I use your telephone?” he asked wearily. “I need to ring the police precinct and report two deaths.”

—

“Harvey, dear,” Delilah touched Harvey on the shoulder, interrupting his reverie and causing him to sit up with a start. “Mercy me,” she exclaimed, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Oh, simply lost in thought,” he replied mildly, neatly parrying her unintended thrust.

Delilah glanced at the clock on the mantle. “Just enough time to suck a load out of you before we leave,” she observed offhandedly, then arched one eyebrow.

“I’ll certainly give it the old college try,” Harvey chuckled quietly as he began unbuttoning his fly.

Once his trousers were down around his ankles, Delilah lifted the skirt of her midnight blue velvet gown and knelt before him. Taking him in her mouth, she bobbed her head up and down on his dick.

His soft, limp, flaccid dick.

After a couple of minutes, she leaned back, letting his sad, deflated penis flop onto his thigh with a wet smack.

“No?” she inquired felicitously as she rose to her feet and smoothed out her dress.

“I’m a little distracted,” he admitted sheepishly. “Rain check?”

“Oh, I’ll make it rain, no doubt about it,” Delilah laughed, then gave him a deep kiss, running her tongue all around the inside of his mouth. “I’ll go see how Daphne’s ablutions are coming along while you make yourself presentable again.”

—

“Ugh, Daph, my grandmother made me help with the Christmas toy drive all day.” Julia downed half of her gin fizz, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and burped quietly into her fist. “I never want to see another Raggedy Ann doll as long as I live.”

“A bunch of loose, cheap redheads lying around?” Daphne said casually as Julia took another swig. “I would’ve thought you’d feel right at home.”

Daphne leapt back as Julia sprayed gin fizz out of her nose, then watched with hooded eyes as her friend coughed and spluttered herself back to an upright position. “Truly elegant, Miss Culligan,” Daphne commented in her best high society voice as Julia leaned back against a pillar and took a deep, wheezing breath. “It’s no wonder you didn’t bother with finishing school.”

“Oh. My. Word.” Julia croaked, wiping her eyes. “You are incorrigible.”

“You think so?” Daphne giggled while flaunting her arm. “Wait’ll I tell you what I did with your cousin after he gave me this diamond wristwatch!”

“Spare me the details, I can guess,” Julia snickered, flipping her long coppery curls. Her tight-fitting dress was of burgundy silk satin, sleeveless, its deep neckline hovering one breath away from disaster.

Daphne had chosen a more modest sapphire-colored evening dress of silk crepe for the occasion. Her eyes swept across the grand ballroom and took in the assembled gathering and the elegant décor. The crystal glassware gleamed, the silverware shone, and the parquet floor was polished to perfection. “It’s quite a shindig!”

“And how!”

“What kind of favors did you and Tommy have to call in to get your grandfather to agree to have my party here, anyway?”

“You know, thinking back,” Julia reflected, “I believe it was Daideó’s idea in the first place. Surprising, considering how protective he is of his precious wooden floors.”

“Oh, really?”

“Absolutely. These floors get waxed every night.” Julia shook her head in wonder. “He must really be eager for you to middle-aisle Tommy!”

“I’ll give that the old Bronx cheer,” Daphne grumbled. “This is supposed to be my birthday party, not a surprise engagement party.”

—

“Mrs. Davenport, I presume?”

“Yes,” Delilah rewarded the man with a brief smile. “You must be one of the uncles,” she teased. It occurred to her at that moment that every male Culligan over thirty seemed to be somebody’s uncle. Did any of these Culligan kids actually have parents?

“Uncle Seamus, to be sure,” the man chuckled politely. “Is it that obvious?”

“Six foot two, red hair, built like a stone wall?” Delilah laughed. “I’d say so.”

“You’ve got me there,” Seamus joined in the laughter. “I was glad to be invited to your daughter’s party. Surprised, to be sure, but glad all the same.”

“We don’t have a large family ourselves,” Delilah explained, “and with Daphne and Tommy becoming so close this year, we figured why not invite the whole clan?”

“And here comes another uncle now,” Seamus observed before calling out. “Brian! C’mere, you ol’ chancer. Uncle Brian, meet Mrs. Davenport.”

“Delilah,” she corrected him, then paused. “I believe you two attended my birthday party in April, but that was more of a society gathering; you probably had no idea who I was or why you were there.”

“Ah,” Brian spoke up, “but we surely marked you from across the room, Mrs. Dav— Delilah.”

“You don’t say.” Delilah replied, raising the corner of one eyebrow ever so slightly.

“To be sure,” Seamus confirmed. “You’re a proper dazzler.”

“Well,” Delilah sighed theatrically while running a finger along the lapel of each man’s jacket. “If I’d only known, we could have gotten acquainted months ago.”

“Billiards room?” Brian suggested.

“Billiards room,” Seamus declared.

—

“That’s a striking piece,” Harvey commented, gesturing with his glass to a large oil painting in the luminist style. A decapitated Medusa knelt in a desolate valley as an ivory-toned Pegasus sprouted from her bloody stump.

“Thank ye, now,” his host replied, pleased. “Had it commissioned not long ago. Pegasus sprang from Medusa’s neck when she was cut down, ye know. Horror begets beauty. Death brings life.”

“Do you have a general interest in Greek mythology?”

“I see what ye’re drivin’ at, Davenport,” the older man laughed. “A mug like me, takin’ a shine to the classics? But mind ye, Medusa had a head full o’ snakes, and that strikes a chord with this old Irishman.”

Harvey nodded with a wry smile. “That makes perfect sense, now that you explain it. Well, we truly appreciate your hosting Daphne’s birthday party up here at your estate, Mr. Culligan.”

“Of course, of course, but call me Daideó, now. Any friend of my grandkids is a friend of mine. I know that Daphne and Julia’ve been sisters-in-arms since Sacred Heart.”

“That’s certainly true.”

“I’m told that Julia did fine work on that deal ye brokered down in Florida.”

“She did,” Harvey confirmed. “She’s an excellent manager.”

“Is that so?” Daideó replied with a reptilian smile. “Kept yer nose to the grindstone, I imagine.”

Harvey, whose nose had been buried in Julia’s snatch while the papers were being signed, merely nodded.

“Well, well. Perhaps we’ll find a permanent position for her in the family enterprise,” Daideó mused. “And your Daphne and young Tommy…?” he trailed off with one eyebrow raised.

“There may be wedding bells in their future,” Harvey acknowledged. “But let’s not reserve St. Patrick’s Cathedral just yet.”

“Quite right, quite right,” Daideó rumbled with a throaty chuckle as he raised his glass of whiskey. “All in good time, now.”

—

Delilah, meanwhile, was leaning against an emerald green pool table with her velvet dress hiked up above her waist, demonstrating her facility with a pool cue. Brian and Seamus watched speechlessly as she slid the fat wooden handle in and out of her pussy. Easing it all the way out, she tongued the glistening surface before taking it deep into her mouth.

Lying the cue on the table, she removed her gold bracelets and peeled off her white satin gloves while the uncles pulled out their stiff dicks. Slowly dropping to her knees, she said in a throaty whisper, “Actually, fellas, I prefer baseball over billiards.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” Delilah replied in a husky voice as she took a hard cock in each hand and began pumping them. “My husband asked me for a rain check this evening, and you know what gets scheduled after a game gets rained out…”

She made eye contact with each of them while running her tongue along her lips.

“... a double header.”

Both uncles’ eyes bugged out as she alternated sucking each of their raging, hard cocks with slow, lazy strokes, never breaking rhythm with her hands. Using her tongue, she twiddled the tip of Brian’s boner, then swapped over to Seamus’ schlong. After a few minutes, she pulled back.

“All right, boys,” she challenged them, “who wants the first go?”

In a daze, Seamus slowly managed to raise one finger.

Delilah leaned forward over the corner of the billiards table with her dark dress bunched up and her snow-white ass on display, allowing Seamus easy access to her from behind while Brian approached her from the front.

“All right, Seamus,” she growled over her shoulder, “you fuck me while I blow your... brother? cousin?” She looked to both men for clarification, but they stared blankly.

“Well, we aren’t brothers, that I know,” Brian offered slowly.

“Probably cousins,” Seamus concluded with a shrug, then sank his cock inside her. Delilah moaned around Brian’s prick as the two men knocked her back and forth like René Lacoste and Bill Tilden battling for the title at the West Side Tennis Club.

By mutual consent, they all took a moment to catch their breaths, and Delilah turned around so that she was now facing Seamus. Squashing her velvet tits against the edge of the table again, she whimpered as Seamus railed her face and Brian proceeded to sink the pink into her corner pocket.

Seamus caressed her coal-black hair as she pistoned her head on his shaft, then with a hitch and a twitch, he began firing his salty cum down her throat.

“Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!” Delilah hummed with each thrust as Brian banged her from behind. Seamus withdrew and leaned against the table, spent, and Delilah’s eyes flashed as she watched the last remnants of jism dribble out of his dick.

“Give it to me!” she gurgled as Brian slammed his cock into her. “Shoot your cum in my hot married cunt!” Brian groaned and achieved his release, pumping his load inside her. As he pulled away and collapsed onto the table, Delilah reached out and swiped her fingertip across Seamus’ drippy dickhead, then licked her finger clean.

Afterward, as she was mopping Brian’s cum off her pussy with Seamus’ handkerchief, she caught both men sneaking glances at her.

“Take a good look, fellas,” she winked, splaying her pussy lips apart, “but if you play your cards right, I’m sure we can have a rematch sometime soon.”

“Cards?” Brian smirked. “We’ve been playing with sticks. And balls.”

“Just how many Culligan uncles are there, anyway?” Delilah asked idly as she folded the soggy handkerchief and stuffed it in her clutch.

“I’d say, eight?” Seamus offered, scratching his head.

Delilah glanced at the sixteen balls on the surface of the table and smiled. “That sounds about right. Maybe I’ll see you fellas for New Year’s.”

—

As the party was winding down, Delilah escorted Daphne to the door of the study. “I’ll wait here while you thank our host.”

“Me?” Daphne gulped as she unwrapped a stick of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit and popped it into her mouth.

“For heaven’s sake, you’re twenty years old now! It’s time you stopped acting like a child.” Delilah took the chewing gum wrapper and dropped it into her clutch, then softened her tone. “He’s not a monster, honey, he’s just a man. And no man is a match for the Davenport gals.”

Daphne entered the room and closed the door behind her, peering nervously through the cloud of cigar smoke where Daideó Culligan sat leaning back in his leather chair behind a massive walnut desk. “Mr. Culligan? I can’t thank you enough for hosting my party in your beautiful home.”

“Think nothing of it,” Daideó dismissed her thanks with a wave of his hand, then stopped as though he had just remembered something. “Although there is one sma’ favor I might ask of ye…” he trailed off and let the unspoken request hang in the air.

Oh, for crying out loud, Daphne sighed to herself as she slunk across the gleaming wooden floor and approached the desk. If we’d rented out the Caledonia Club like I wanted, my boyfriend’s grandfather wouldn’t be expecting me to blow him right now.

She was about to spit out her gum and plaster it on the bridge of her nose for safekeeping when Daideó continued.

“Yer father, he’s involved in politics. Would ye say he has power?”

Not expecting me to blow him. Huh. “I wouldn’t say power, exactly,” Daphne weighed her words carefully. “I’d say influence.”

“Quite right. He’s an influential man. He doesn’t wield the power himself, but he can help direct the power in a certain direction.”

Daphne chewed her gum slowly as she waited for Daideó to go on.

“What I need,” he confided in a low voice as he contemplated his cigar, “is a bit o’ help with some upcoming legislation in Washington. Just a nudge, a word or two in the right ears.”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “My father does what he thinks is best for the country. For the world. Not for his friends.”

“Ah, I see,” Daideó sneered. “He’s a right saint, yer father. Never acted in his own self-interest, I suppose?”

“Well, he isn’t likely to act in yours,” Daphne scoffed, no longer concerned about offending her host.

Daideó fixed his gaze on her. “If ye’ve designs on joinin’ this family, Miss Davenport, ye’ll need to make yerself useful. Our boy Tommy’s a risin’ star; ye could help him light up the sky.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Culligan, but I really don’t think—”

“Think?” Daideó roared as he thumped the desk and made the ashtray rattle. “Nobody’s asked ye to think!” He leapt out of his chair and crossed to the front of the desk, grabbing Daphne by the arm before she could register what was happening. “Who d’ye think paid for that bauble on yer wrist?”

The door burst open, and Delilah strode in.

“Get. Your filthy. Hands. Off my daughter.”

Daideó turned and surveyed this new adversary.

“Ah, it’s too late now, Mrs. Davenport,” he chuckled nastily as he removed his hand. “I’ve landed this fish already. If she tries to slip the hook, I’ll see to it that the feds receive photographic evidence that she’s been smugglin’ bootleg whiskey...”

Daphne’s jaw dropped. “With your grandchildren, you louse!”

“And I’ll be happy to send them up the river as well,” Daideó flashed an ugly smile. “The two people ye love the most, the way I hear it.”

Daphne moved to slap him, but he saw it coming and seized her wrist, twisting it.

“You’re hurting me!”

Delilah gripped his shoulder and spun him around. Slipping on the polished floor, he fell and banged the back of his head on the corner of the desk, then slowly sagged to the ground. Both women stepped back as a pool of blood formed beneath his skull.

“Honey, are you all right?” Delilah asked quietly, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“Jules,” Daphne whispered, then dashed out of the room.

A moment later—

“Jesus fucking Christ, Mrs. D!” Julia hissed, locking the door behind them. “Did you just kill my grandfather?”

Delilah shivered as though awakening from a trance. “He was hurting my baby,” she whispered.

“Huh?” Julia looked around, confused.

“He grabbed my arm,” Daphne explained, diamonds flashing as she rubbed her sore wrist. “And he threatened me. Us.”

“Are you all right now?” Julia asked softly.

“Yes, I’m all right, but…” Daphne’s lip trembled as she indicated the corpse crumpled at her feet.

“Daph. Mrs. D,” Julia said calmly but firmly. “You two need to get out of here. Right now.” She pressed a section of the wall, and a wooden panel slid aside, revealing an escape tunnel. “Go. I’ll have Tommy meet you with the Packard on the other side.”

—

Harvey arrived home a few minutes before midnight. Delilah met him at the door with a glass of Scotch whisky and led him to the parlor, where he settled into his favorite chair. She raised her eyebrows gently. And so?

Harvey exhaled before taking a sip of his drink. “Everything’s taken care of. Julia told her uncles that she was with Daideó when he fell, and they bought it.”

“They aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed,” Delilah commented drily.

“I don’t think they were too broken up about the whole affair, to be honest.”

“Hmm. So that’s that?”

“So that’s that,” Harvey confirmed, taking another sip before chuckling, “but Julia made sure to wipe your fingerprints off the doorknob, just in case.”

“What about the funeral?” Delilah asked quietly.

“It may be wise for us to leave town for a week, to avoid any awkward questions. We can pretend we planned to surprise Daphne with a birthday-slash-Christmas trip, say skiing in the White Mountains.” Another sip. “How is she doing, by the way?”

“She’ll be asleep soon; I gave her a bromide powder to calm her nerves.”

Delilah sat on the arm of his chair while Harvey took a moment to reflect on his surroundings: the fireplace burning low, the dim electric glow from the wall sconces, the uptown city lights twinkling through the frost on the windowpanes.

“What was it I said on New Year’s Eve?” he wondered aloud. “That we could make 1926 into whatever we wanted?” He shook his head slowly before draining his glass. “What a dope I am.”

Delilah tilted her head, silently assessing the past twelve months. “We’ve had our share of ups and downs,” she admitted with a small smile before leaning down to kiss him. “But I still love you, Mr. Davenport.”

“By golly, Mrs. Davenport,” Harvey declared with a mischievous gleam in his eye, “your breath smells like somebody’s cock.”

“Two somebodies, if you want the truth,” Delilah smirked as she stood up and glided towards the door.

“I’m going to make it three somebodies in a minute,” Harvey laughed as he rose and followed her.

“Be a dear and get the handkerchief out of my clutch?”

Alone in her bedroom with the gas bracket giving off the faintest blue glow, Daphne Davenport pulled her quilt tight up to her chin and burrowed under the blankets as her parents crept softly past her door.

“God, get a room, would you?” she yawned before rolling over and falling fast asleep.

THE END