Along with the rich, warm, milk, images arose, unbidden, into his mind.Everything that was Helen, her fine intelligence, her knowledge of history, her...love for her Penn and Dee, her love of Pamela, her soft skin, her smell, seemed to swirl into Penn along with the milk. It was delicious, feeling this close to someone, and he could feel her pleasure, her joy, her bounteous thrusting against the tentacle which drew from her.Jane spurted milk into his mouth as Helen cried out, her back arched in. I had no idea what kind of a game he was trying to play this time, and I had no intention of hanging around long enough to find out either."Bollocks!" I replied and then I walked out of the pub.Of course I did wonder whether Conway was telling the truth or not, but I doubted it from the beginning. The man had told me all kinds of tales during his interrogation sessions; I figured that he was playing another of his mind games, trying to get me to say something stupid like "That's impossible. More

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