If there's anything that fiercely captures one's heart when obtained and remains unforgettable once lost, it must be emotion.
The next morning, in the bustling church, Levin sat in a corner with a heart turned to ashes, drowning his sorrows in drink, looking up at the towering black stone dome, his face the very image of despondency.
He had maintained this appearance for a full 18 hours.
The two dark circles under his eyes were proof enough that he hadn't slept a wink all night.
The two scratch marks on the back of his hand indicated that he had gotten into a fight with Friday.
Friday, sitting next to him, adopted the same posture, leaning against the bench, belly up, tail drooping downwards, eyes half-closed, only short of a smoking pipe in his mouth.
