She will cry for days and nights together. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. There were lines in her face that age had not put there. “Thank you. She wanted him so badly it hurt. ” To remain, she felt, was to concede everything. So this was what it was all about. He whispered in her ear. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent.
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