Vorsack sat alone at his computer in his pajamas. A vast indifference settled down upon him. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken. “Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right. And when I ask you why it is you do so, you have no answer. I am bound to admit that I greatly enjoy my altered life.
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