In the trench Francesco took two hours to die. His gore soaked into the sleeves and flanks of my tunic. His shattered head was cradled in my arms like a little child and his mouth formed words that only he could hear. Tears began to follow each other down his cheeks. I gathered his tears on my fingers and drank them. I bent down and whispered into his ear, ‘Francesco, I have always loved you.’ His eyes rolled up and met mine. He fixed my gaze. He cleared his throat with difficulty and said, ‘I know.’ I said, ‘I never told you until now.’ He smiled that slow laconic smile and said, ‘Life’s a
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