The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. "Did you write it?" "No. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. Before he even glanced at the man on the floor he stepped over to her side and took the poker from her. A dreamy sense of content crept over him.
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