sorrow-laved

Updated: May 19, 2025

Others follow; then nothing more is to be seen in the rain, the wind and the gloom but backs. "It's finished. Let's go." Marie lifts to me her sorrow-laved face. She is sweet; she is affectionate; she is unhappy; but she does not love me. We go away in disorder, along by the trees whose skeletons the winter has blackened. When we arrive in our quarter, twilight has invaded the streets.

Henri Barbusse - Light