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” The corners of her lips rose along with her eyebrows. ‘And you mean this? Truly?’ ‘Entirely. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. "The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present. ” A sudden sense of the gravity of this thing came home to Anna. Not that there had ever been any hope of that. Death belongs to God, young man.
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