When Thérèse felt the touch, she sniffed, turning her head to peer through the veil at who it was. Christopher. Oh, Christopher. She began to cry a little louder, the occasional sob echoing softly around them, and she leant in to him, desperate for comfort. Her hand went to grip in his shirt, her grief overwhelming her as she sobbed as quietly as she could into his shoulder, Julien's face etched behind her eyelids, the whole dreadful affair replaying over and over in her mind.