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“Grief makes you lonely,” he said staring in the glass. It somehow changes the way we are, don’t you think? I never thought it would come to me, not like it did. Not after the war had finished.”
“It won’t get any worse than this,” she whispered, feeling his pain.
“It won’t.” She smiled.
He looked at her and his eyes were angry although his tone wasn’t. “Violence is not the way you expect to lose someone. How can we come through the war unscathed only for some crazed idiot, a damn blasted drunken fool…” He drained his glass and refilled it. He downed the second one, then got to his feet looking anguished. “I’m sorry. Oh, and tell that blasted boy to keep away from my window!”
He strode out of the room leaving Mary staring after him.
The following day as…
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