Despite her maintained silence, the expression of taut composure that had gradually subsumed Constance’s -until now- buoyant features, spoke volumes. Her initial bewilderment, had likewise given way to a profound comprehension. Unlike Norbury’s, however, her insights were of a more personal nature.
This was more than profound; it was kismet. Yes, Norbury had deceived her time and time again, firstly, with his undisclosed wife, then with his furtive infatuation with fishing. Now it seemed, he had in all likelihood, managed to make a duplicate of Arse Birds behind her back. Who knew to what ends! But yes, she still loved him. For all the wrong reasons, she would always love him; unruly whiskers, staggeringly gymnastic flatulence (not to mention flatulent gymnastics), Machiavellian morals and all.
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