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Loss (Feuilly): June, 1832
Aimery died three eternal moments ago. I saw him fall beside me, and I ducked down behind the stones to see if I could help, but it was too late. I should not have looked, never have seen him broken and lost. In ten minutes it will not matter, for I will be on my way to heaven or to hell. Until then, I can see nothing but his face, frozen in agony, though I had to look away and return to my horrific duty. I was not certain that I would die until now. And now it doesn't matter, for there is no one left who will care, no sweet friend who will lend me a shoulder and a bed. Ah, God, how can he be dead? I have no time to mourn, no time to wonder whether this sacrifice will benefit anyone. They are coming, and the cannon is firing again.
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