"I stood in line to sign it," Jacques said hollowly. "Me and... and most of my friends. They... none of them is older than twenty-five. They all so love this country." His throat hurt. It felt as raw as if he'd rubbed sandpaper over a cut. "I... I didn't see any of them as we ran out." Jacques irritably rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "They had so much to give this country. Why on earth would anyone want to- to kill us for expressing our opinions? For exercising our right to free speech?"