She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. She sensed his acute frustration as he unzipped her raincoat while trying to kiss her. He waved to her.
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