She nursed at his neck as he peacefully slumbered through being killed. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. Part of her even believed that her mother would have wanted her to stop feeling guilty and to be happy. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant.
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