It was a purse. 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. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. “I told you I did not love you.
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