Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. These things are difficult. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt. . For a long time neither spoke again. ’ Lucilla sat up.
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