But she did not believe he would do that. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. You are right. I love my husband. “I’m next, Mr. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. I don't think he'll come to himself too soon. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home.
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