His eyes could not detach itself from this terrifying scene, his body could not make up his mind to move, he remained there, frozen, breathless and with a frightened heart, observing with horror the young woman being stabbed. He dared not breathe properly for fear of being noticed, but he could not restrain a shudder when he saw the bloody face of the victim. A tear rolled down his cheek, ashamed of his own cowardice. "Eva," he whispered with difficulty. She was dead. She, so beautiful and so pure, had fled. She had exhausted her last breath in a sigh that remained engraved in the memory of the observer. She had been killed, carrying with her a part of the young man. In the end, he was just as guilty. --- This story is the translation of my French history, I translated it so that English speaking people may be able to understand, I hope you will like it!All Rights Reserved
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