“Old long Johnson had a farm,” Sin whisper-sung under this breath. “E-I-E-I-O. And on that farm he had a Cain.” He tossed a glance over his shoulder at me, a wicked glint in his eyes. “E-I-E-I-O. With a bitch-bitch here, and a bitch-bitch
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Aisley’s 2025 Year in Books
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