Henry McCoy. Field journal. Closing notes.
I found nothing. But, then again, I don't really know what I was looking for. The past is full of horrors. […] I didn't say a prayer. But I stood there a while, and I thought about their lives, and their deaths.
Friends. Comrades. Enemies. Strangers.
I buried the dead. I gave the past it's due. Which is all you can do, in the end, for the dead and for the past.
Well--
--that and live.
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Abraço
;)