She was shifting, moving back. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding. She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head. “Are you feeling okay?” “Just fine. "I believe he is conscious," she answered. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. So am I. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain.
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