It is an impression, that's all."
He frowned slightly. "I used to smoke a pipe,--in college, you know.
Up to my sophomore year. It was supposed to indicate maturity. But
I don't believe I'd have the courage to tackle one now, Miss Crown.
Not since that little gas experience over there. You see, my throat
isn't what it was in those good old freshman days. Pipe smoke,--you
may even say tobacco smoke, for heaven only knows what these
cigarettes are made of,--pipe smoke is too strong. My throat is so
confounded sensitive I--well, I'd probably cough my head off. That
beastly gas made a coward of me, I fear. You've no idea what it does
to a fellow's throat and lungs. If I live to be a thousand years
old, I'll never forget the tortures I went through for weeks,--yes,
ages. Every breath was like a knife cutting the very--But what a
stupid fool I am! Distressing you with all these wretched details.
Please forgive me."
She was looking at him wonderingly. "You are so different from the
poor fellows I saw in New York," she said slowly. "I mean the men
who had been gassed and shell-shocked. I saw loads of them in the
hospitals, you know,--and talked with them. I was always tremendously
affected by their silence, their moodiness, their unwillingness to
speak of what they had been through. The other men, the ones who
had lost legs or arms or even their eyes,--were as a rule cheerful
and as chatty as could be,--oh, how my heart used to ache for
them,--but the shell-shock men and the men who had been gassed,
why, it was impossible to get them to talk about themselves.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141