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... t morning, Eric had thrown himself into his work, but his mind was not on the logistics of dye shipments or the price of rare pigments. It was fixed on Delia. Her words from that morning echoed in his head, a constant, painful refrain: "This is a contract marriage, after all... I won’t be here for long, anyway."
He had felt something shift between them in his kitchen, a warmth and intimacy that went far beyond their agreement. But she had pushed it away, retreating behind the cold, logic ...
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