“What have I done, Miss Pellissier?” he pleaded. Softly she rose to her feet. Who walked you home?\" Mike asked her, his voice tinged with jealousy, as she passed the garlic bread. That’s probably true. You. An uncomfortable silence followed. “But I am your husband,” he said. By the side of her plate was a small key. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic.
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