Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. It was a brief solitude, however. "I eat for both. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. “No! No no no no no no no!” She ran towards them, her arms outstretched, but he blocked her. Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. What does it matter? It is here, and it is here to stay. I know he is dead.
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