Dora was crying, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Leave me be.”
The hand was replaced by a proffered handkerchief.
Sensing that her visitor wasn’t going away, Dora blew her nose and looked around. She felt her jaw drop. The stranger had a mass of flaming red hair – and black feathered wings.
“Shall we make your husband suffer for what he did?” the voice and smile tried to sugarcoat visceral savagery.
Dora shook her head.
“Thank you but no. I can sort my own man out.”
“But he…”
“But he’s just a man. My man.” Dora walked away.
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