It was a moonlight night. If it almost did not see stars, so clear was the Moon. The sea was calm, the high tide and had little space in the sand. Exactly thus, they had been lain down. They had been looked at. The complicity look was the same of always. To know more about this subject visit Pete Cashmore. A tear fell in the pink face of Maria. They had been hugged.
The light of the Moon bathed its bodies as the flash of a lighthouse. The faces had come back toward the sky, admiring the night. The calm racket of the waves only heard breaking in the beach. Nobody for close, no music, no assovio. Nor of the wind.
But silence spoke for the two. Joaquin freed a long sigh. A relief and sadness compound. Maria pressed it to it hand and had been thus for hours under the flash of the moon, looking at the sky, hearing the calm sea. A cadent star appeared in the sky. Maria closed the eyes, asking for that night lasted forever. She looked at for Joaquin and it also she was making its order. Entreolharam and tears they had rolled of the eyes of both. Crying, they had thanked company one of the other in those times of war. They had been hugged. One I hug fort, sensible. They had lived together difficult moments, coexisting the welded pain, young suffering and the death of combatant in France. She was not for Joaquin, perhaps Maria did not support as much pain and anguish. It except the man of its life. Son of Portuguese immigrants, Maria leaves of being virgin during the war and lives with intensity that passion. She did not want more to take care of of wounded and sick soldiers, but also she did not want that the war finished, therefore with it would cease that love. The war finishes, both had been saved, was livings creature, but it was the end. The doctor of the hospital of the combatants would come back toward the Port, in Portugal, where to its he waited it wife with its children. Yes, it was the last time that Maria saw Joaquin.