The Fire

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wasn't that I didn't care about my first husband. I did. If I could have gone back in time and kept myself from marrying him, I would have, just to keep from breaking his heart. But I couldn't help feeling what I felt at the show that night. Surrounded by bodies, suffused in their heat, I shuffled through the crowd and then stopped before the largest painting there. My heart burned. The Lady of Shallot, and Lancelot. Her reaching arms. Her yearning eyes. And Lancelot. I studied his face. Distant. Regal. Beautiful. I couldn't be with my husband anymore.

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