He stared at the heart of his heart, the one woman in the world for him
She had of course, kept working. He liked to think she would have moved under the table to continue her task if a gun battle had broken out, but he wasn't sure.
But not all scars showed, did they?
People always wanted someone to blame, didn't they?
Religion turned some folks belligerent.
How to put this feeling, this certainty, into something as limited as words?