On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. The noise was raucous. To her chagrin, he ignored her, and turned a venomous eye on his betrothed.
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