Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death. Sheila bellowed, a great wail of a sound from deep in her belly, flinging her tremendous weight towards him. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent.
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