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What Joanna Meerschaum committed with Samuel Blumenthal was a mistake (maybe not an innocent mistake, considering acts performed, but assuredly a case of mistaken identity). What Rockefeller Falk committed with whatever (that thing, that cadaver, that pseudo-female zombie) was an out-and-out crime; the pervert! "I kissed this naked woman’s breast," is how he had phrased it. "She wasn’t exactly conscious..." was as far as he got with his confession before Joanna cut him off, and OUT of her life FOREVER—a decision she made instantly (okay, rashly) yet one, after calm reflection, she resolved never to retract; why should she? It had taken merely a glimpse at that picture he flashed to grasp the situation, alongside his ridiculous declaration of guilt, nothing left to imagine; she could envision what the two did next, or what he did to it; Rockefeller’s mind having plenty of twists and kinks. The fact that he had told her, telecast an image, was worse (almost) than his announcing the fact of his emotional involvement; emotional involvement with what, she wanted to know; some waking wet-dream? Did he expect to elicit her sympathy for his seducing a practical corpse? Or did he expect to accomplish just what he had, cutting Joanna to the quick, humiliating and insulting her so deeply she was bound to call it quits, cancel their engagement, and sever their relationship? But what a cowardly way to wriggle off the hook, dump his knocked-up fiancée to cavort with a goddamn specimen, a blow-up doll with artificial everything, regardless her perfect tits, a blank,  a total nonentity... so he could shirk responsibilities? Under whose bad influence? Remington’s; that’s whose; Fell’s father was to blame. "Nervous breakdown," bull. The man was a nutcase, true enough, but slick as a snake, and jealous green-eyed-monster jealous about his pride-and-joy post-grad son. More frantic than a grasping mother, Remington Falk was and is...

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