#3 (Part III)

#3 The Man With The Newspaper (Part III)

     He lifts his hand to brush his cool fingers across my face.  He drops his hand at once.  His fingers twitch and curl as if I’ve scalded him some way.  “I’m just making sure.”
     The last person to touch my face as such was my husband.  That this man took such liberties . . .!  I couldn't help my frosty, “Of?” 
     “You are alive.  I had wondered.”   
     Outside on the platform I peer into the dim windows of the compartment, going on tip-toe, to see if I can once more spot the man with the newspaper. 
     Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

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