What the Vandals Leave
The war was over, and he was back in his native city that had been retaken from the Vandals. He was walking rapidly through a dimly lit quarter. A woman touched his arm and accosted him in fuddled accents.
“Where are you going, M’sieu? With me, hein?”
He laughed.
“No, not with you, old girl. I’m going to find my sweetheart.”
He looked down at her. They were near a street lamp. She screamed. He seized her by the shoulders and dragged her closer to the light. His fingers dug her flesh, and his eyes gleamed.
“Joan!” he gasped.