"He never let me keep a dog or a cat about the house. But no more of that. Who is it?” “Your brother Mike!” Michelle chirruped, sounding uncannily like her mother Diane. " She rose. A maidservant held the front door open. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire.
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