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Prologue Kampong Thorn, Cambodia 1993
She Died While He Held Her Under A Bril iant Dawn. Her
Eyelids Closed Softly, A Faint Breath Rose From Her Delicate
Throat, And Then She Was Gone. Hang Sary Looked Down At
The Pale Face Of The Young Woman. He Looked At The Grass
And Dirt In Her Wet Hair And The Cuts In Her Forehead And
He Felt Revulsion When He Saw The Red Lipstick On Her
Mouth, The Rouge That Had Smeared Across Her Cheek, And
The Charcoal-Gray Mascara That Had Run From Her Eyes To
Her Ears. This Wasn’t How It Was Supposed To Be. Not Even
Here, In A Land Where The Concept Of Innocence Was As
Foreign As The Dream Of Peace. Phum Sary Should Not Have
Died So Young, And She Should Not Have Died Like This.
No One Should Die Like This, Lying In A Windy Rice Field, The
Cool Water Muddy-Red With Their Blood. But At Least Phum
Had Died Knowing Who It Was That Held Her In His Arms. At
Least She Didn’t Die As She’d Probably Lived Most Of Her
Life, Alone And Uncherished. And Though The Search That
Hang Had Never Quite Abandoned Was Over, He Knew That
Another Was About To Begin.
Hang’s Knees Were Raised And His Sister’s Head Was In His
Lap. He Lightly Touched The Cold Tip Of Her Nose, The Fine
Line Of Her Jaw, Her Round Mouth. A Mouth That Always Used
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