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It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. ’ She let out a peal of laughter. ’ He received a glare from his captive. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study.

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