Regret is the final breath of the weak.
Brian W. MatthewsThey lied, you know,” said Cpl. Allan Richmond. He hugged the
wall next to Owens. Beside him, PFC Bucky Hatton crouched low, a
Browning 1911 semiautomatic gripped tightly in his hand.
“Who?” asked Bart, glad to be out of the wind and rain, even if it
was only for a short time.
“The assholes who said France was beautiful.
Stichwörter: travel
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