Thou shalt not kill faintly—but a breaking bottle dimmed the sound.
The wine heated, wakened dormant senses.
More wine
With shouts and cries the tottering men came from the cellar—Laughed at the woman with graying hair
She was shielding a girl whose eyes resembled Igor's. The girl who had watched to escape.
And could not
The uniform, the sabre—
Gone was the memory of a brown habit.
He came nearer. Was it a woman—
He clasped her. Her soft hair brushed his face.