"
"That's good news. But you mustn't blame them too severely. I mean those
that really came over with a single purpose and were not proof against the
forcing house of war. As for the others...well, a good many followed their
men over, others came after excitement, others, as you say, to do as
they pleased, with no questions asked--possibly! I shouldn't take enough
interest in them to criticize them if they hadn't used the war-relief
organizations, from the Red Cross down to the smallest oeuvre, as a pretext
to get over, and then calmly throw us down--the oeuvres, I mean. Mine was
'done' several times. But let us be good healthy optimists such as
our country loves and remind ourselves that the worthy outnumber the
unworthy--and that the really bad would have gone the same way sooner or
later."
"It goes. Optimism for me for ever more once I get out of France."
II
They had crossed the square and were walking down a narrow crooked street
as gray as if the dust of ages were in its old walls. Alexina looked at
him curiously. He had never had what might be called a soft and tender
countenance, but now it looked like cast-iron covered with red rust, and
his eyes were more like bits of the same metal, blackened and polished,
than ever. His youth had gone. There were deep vertical lines in his face.
His mouth was cynical. His bullet head, shaved until only a cap of black
stiff hair remained on top, and presumably safe from assault, by no means
added to the general attractiveness of his style.
Pages:
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396