The comb has stopped in your hair. So has my caress. I take the comb out of your hand. Everything is over. We are sitting, arm is in arm.
Guilt is a malicious worm.
The strong get up at dawn, chop some wood, have a brandy, and so on. Because only they, the strong killers, know the language of herbs, trees, birds, women, and infants. An infant's grasp weighs many tons. The war was on. Horse carts and tanks rumbled, then stopped.