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He was very still and framed in white. She coughed and the tears came, the wrong kind of tears. Maybe she looked like that too, shrouded in white. She told herself, Cold hands, warm heart, yeah. And tried to pull him closer - but all the time wanting to keep him away and hating herself for that. It took me a long time to get through. The day was very warm and I felt tired and ill and frightened. And for an aching moment, she had an intense longing to hear American voices. There was the sound of Boston in his voice, and she had to admit, it was nice to hear it.
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