She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death. He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. She would never again be lonely. I didn’t understand. Madame shrugged. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire.
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