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She had come to love him a little less each day over the years. For the past month or two they had grown weary of each other’s presence.

They lived in uncomfortable silence; she escaped to her sewing machine whenever he was around and he buried himself in his books when he thought he heard her voice.

One Friday they sat at the dinner table and nibbled in silence. She spluttered as he thrust his steak knife into her throat; he collapsed next to her, foaming at the mouth as the poison she slipped into his drink started taking effect.