Sorrow overwhelmed him. Susan had lost consciousness without saying anything more about her assault.
“Tell me, God, please,” Tom cried, “who would leave my wife down here?”
No one answered. They were cold and alone, stuck in wet sewer sludge below street level. Above, a howling canine, perhaps part wolf, echoed the husband's lament. Dog being man’s best friend, it was an acceptable tribute.
As if from heaven, soft light gradually appeared, like Virgil’s rosy-fingered dawn.
“Help is coming, darling,” he whispered, “I won’t let you go. Hold on!”
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