They are tending to congregate, our poor French friends. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. She wanted to live. She drew it out with shaking fingers. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. Section 1. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. Perhaps it was loneliness. If not, keep up your spirits. Ann Veronica readjusted her chin on her hand.
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