Tristan dying and Isolde coming to crown his death. You seem altogether altered, too. 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. All alone; and nobody cared whether he lived or died. In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. Annabel, come to the door with me,” she added a little abruptly. She cocked her head.
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