He had nearly ruined
it.
Matthew bent over, set his hands on his knees. "Look at it," he
said, mesmerized by the engraved salmon fish swimming their
final, predestined course.
"All right, Matthew, you've your look. Enough now. Please" She
reached for the bowl.
He gripped too. "It's over," he said, his voice cracking. "Don't
you understand? The struggle's over, Greta. Do you remember when
you came home with this bowl, to celebrate our plans coming
together? That was when it started. And now it's over. So you
see? It all worked out. Everything is fine now. Fine."
She glared at him. "Let go of my bowl."
"Greta, please. It means so much to me. To us," he urged, tugging
forcefully.
"No, damn you. It's mine and I'm taking it with me."
"Where?" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Just where the hell
do you think you're going?" His neck was straining, and his
knuckles were white around the bowl's rim.
"To France!" she cried. Her eyes glistened in the bright white
light. "With Jean-Pierre."
He burst with laughter, and shot his face closer to hers, over
the bowl. "The horse trainer? Oh, that's good, Greta. That's real
good! The horse trainer! So I'm not the only one sleeping with
the staff, am I?"
Her fingers hurt, and she could barely hold on any longer.
"Matthew, please," she begged, afraid.
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