THE NORTH RIDING PROJECT

I didn’t see the young girl until a few seconds later.  She could not have been more than about fifteen, and I was struck by her beauty.  Dressed in camouflage, gun held firmly across her chest, she stood astride, swaying her hips coquettishly.  Her pretty face, her flaxen hair rolled on her head, like a little bird’s nest, and the femininity of her earrings contrasted with the severity of her uniform.  Almost shyly she greeted me with a beautiful smile.

Betancourt/Silence