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Summary
Keith should have fallen on his sword. Honour dictated he takes his own life rather than suffer the humiliation of defeat. It was too later, however. He didn’t have a sword or anything to fall on anymore. He wanted to believe he would do it, if only he could get his hand on a blade. His whole being yearned with the need to believe. But he knew himself, knew his will to live. Dying meant escape. Dying also meant no chance of fighting another day. Dying was too… definitive to his liking.
