Beautiful sculptures of sugar and almond paste decorated the long tables, delicate replicas of flowers and miniature animals, even a small Palazzo sculpted from cakes graced the table. Instead, her husband was probably wise. If I had been quite quiet and white and dignified, wouldn’t it have been different? Would he have dared?. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. She hit the villain with it. .
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