They are… long in the past. file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Freda%20Warrington%20-%20A%20Taste%20of%20Blood%20Wine. On dull days such as this its gloominess could seem oppressive, but at this moment it spoke only of peace and solitude. The scent of crushed grass and stale wine rose up ripely through the heat of dancing bodies, and the canvas roof was wreathed in smoke.
Suddenly she could breathe again. It crept down into the shell- hole where the young English soldier lay drained of life; not the first of file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Freda%20Warrington%20-%20A%20Taste%20of%20Blood%20Wine. No need to look for me, my friend, he thought, pleased with the evening's work.
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