She envisioned him walking through a blizzard, his head down, his moustache coated with ice, his frozen fingers gripping his bayonet.

She understood that unrequited love could break a heart, but there was nothing she could do about his sorrow.

Outside, the sweet smell of freshly cut alfalfa hay was a welcome change from the odours of sweat and cheap cologne on the dance floor.

It blew with a rustling noise, as if all the demons had sprung from hell and decided to release a raspy long sigh together.