Then he heard another's voice, another screamer, broken and shrill, another shooter. When she'd stopped, he said, "Mad at the sun?""What gave it away?" She eyed him, the mascara smeared down her cheeks. "The gun or the screaming?
"I can see it your eyes."
She smiled, her lips trembling, and he extended his shaking hand. She twined her fingers in his as the faint sound of cracking fell into their ears.
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