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She mourns. Head on knees, hands on ankles, feeling with fingers tired skin. Child death unlike all other. We made, he said, I carried, she replied. The child died. Ce qui peut venir de tout cela? What result? He questioned over dull coffee, cigarette held low, eyes mud brown cast down. Blessures comme celle-ci ne guérissent pas, she said. Pictures of her child swim in the waters of her pained head.
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Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
SHE MOURNS.
She mourns. Head on knees, hands on ankles, feeling with fingers tired skin. Child death unlike all other. We made, he said, I carried, she replied. The child died. Ce qui peut venir de tout cela? What result? He questioned over dull coffee, cigarette held low, eyes mud brown cast down. Blessures comme celle-ci ne guérissent pas, she said. Pictures of her child swim in the waters of her pained head.
A WOMAN MOURNS THE DEATH OF HER CHILD.
TerryCollett
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Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
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