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Gino goosed Baron Nabu tethered his horse to a large oak and hurried across the wide lawn Avila Mullah toe where Marielle was waiting. He had been reluctant to leave his vineyards. There was still so much to be done but the urgency of her message If you deemed that we be friends, I beg you to come at once had persuaded him. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes red rimmed and sad. She smiled Juan Lee and thanked him for coming, making small talk and prattling on about the harvest until he took her hands in his and look deep into her eyes. Her voice faltered then and she turned away soft. Gen quivering. He waited for her to compose herself. You are his friend, she began softly. You can talk to him. Ask him. Beg him to let me go. I do not belong here. I am not a fit wife for any man. What nonsense is this? He hates me. She wept. He cannot forget. He cannot forgive Kavi. Expect er purchase on the rooftop and haunts us both if you talk to him. A divorce annulment. Whatever the grounds say that we married under duress it lawful? Hey, that I am a disobedient wife. What ever he wishes. But you love him. This spot does it matter? Doesn't keep me from grief. Oh, Gino goosed I can no longer bear the pain we give to one another. And what of his love for you? He asked softly. Do you know how he suffered when he could not find? You would laugh. Okay? Her eyes wavered, but she shook her head. No, no, it is not love. He feels for me more and more. I have seen it in his eye since Paris. It is not love he wants. He will never think of me as his wife on Lee, a mistress with a wedding ring. I think you make more of this than what is warranted. Be patient marriages Strange to him. It may be hard for him to settle down and his pride was grievously wounded Because of caveat. She frowned, but there's something deeper she said slowly and undercurrent. I cannot explain it a feeling no more as though he expects me to disappoint him. He laughed shortly, but that is what he thinks of all women. I thought he felt differently about you At least my friend Andre is a fool. Perhaps growing up without a mother, he never learned to trust a woman's love. Perhaps he felt abandoned when she died. She looked at in our bow thoughtfully. What was she like? He never speaks of her. She died very suddenly. I was younger than he. But later, when we became friends, he shook his head, remembering surprised He never talked about her. I do not know if he felt her loss, but his father did. The old man languished for years, bent with grief before he died. Poor Andre, you see? Could you really leave him? He asked tenderly.