She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. On the way he confessed. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. It had been cut down before life was extinct, but a ball from one of the soldiers had pierced his heart. A trial always brings those involved into public notice, and I dare say he feels there will be scandal enough without adding to it.
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