She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. ‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’ Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind. ‘Leave it, imbecile. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. I will take her back. "Caught!" shouted the head-turnkey.
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