When Gabrielle Rosenfeld’s doorbell rang a while later in Nawfia Street, the sound awakened her from a light sleep. She looked at the clock, remembered that she had sent Nelo home at four in the afternoon, and reached for her robe. She was belting it around her waist and climbing down the stairs when the doorbell rang again. “Alright, alright. I’m coming.” She muttered, crossing the flowered rug on the parquet floor. She switched on the overhead light and the gold chandelier beamed with a dazzling glow. She pulled open the door.

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