Mabel said.

“Not for one day of her life.”

She told me the rest slowly.

That one stormy night, long ago, Naomi had come to her door in a panic, with a bruise darkening her face and this very locket clutched in her hand, and had told Mrs.

Mabel that her own sister — Delilah — had been dangerously, obsessively in love with Raymond.

Both sisters had loved the same man.