She reached the door, but before she could open it, I called to her. “Beth, wait.” She stopped, but did not turn to face me. I needed her to look ...t me, to know I meant what I was about to say. I quickly went to her, covering the distance between us in just two strides. I grabbed her hand, pulling her around towards me. “Please. Don’t Go. I didn’t mean it.” As panicked as I was, I momentarily forgot my own strength. She turned, but unable to stop herself, and her body continued to come towards. I was seven." She took a sip of her tea before continuing."I was raised in what you would call a whorehouse, but to call it such is like calling a milk stool a throne. There was nothing in this house that money could not buy. My father owned it; my mother helped him, and I helped her, tending the girls. Bathing them, caring for their hurts, tending wounds, whatever they required, from a massage to a manicure to changing bandages in places they could not reach. Most were slaves, but not all. The. More

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