Anna merely glanced at the coarse, flushed features, and at once shook her head. She slid the dress off, naked underneath. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs. . Or, better still, put all my clothes in the trunk. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her.
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