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It was a good divorce. They each took one of the cars and one of the labradoodles; they diveded the silver, antiques, and paintings, put the house up for sale, agreed to split the proceeds, and were shaking hands goodbye when they heard a musical tinkle from the garden.
"Oh-oh," she remembered, "my wind chimes." My wind chimes," he corrected. They hurried across the lawn and reached for the chimes at the exact same moment; when she tripped him, he slugged her, when he slugged her, she bit him. The realtor found their bodies later, chimes twined around their throats.