" At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Michelle, I truly don’t. Now I have done something for which you might be pardoned if you did kill me. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. I have brought disgrace upon you, and I haven’t been the right sort of wife at all. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey.
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