” He was strangely silent. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. “My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me. He pulled on her shoulder, bringing her mouth to his in a kiss. 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. ” He closed the door partially behind himself. They moved fast.
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