She could feel the irritation about the tender flesh between her legs and wished she did not have so far to walk. She did, however, and there was no use in wishing otherwise. She walked along, trying to ignore irritation that was turning to pain, and the many emotions clashing within her. Shame was up there. How could she have wet herself like that? And there was anger, anger at herself. Fear was also in the mix, she was terrified that someone might recognise her, and then notice the fact she was wet.
As she walked she felt more and more like crying, and sometimes, serriptiously, brushed at her eyes, taking the tears away from they could fall.

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