"Couldn't you get enough money together to start something quickly," she
continued, the idea suddenly coming to her. "I think I could help you.
It wouldn't matter its being something small to begin with. So long as
it was entirely your own, and couldn't be taken away from you. You'd
soon work it up."
"Thanks," he answered. "I may ask you to later on. But just now--" He
paused.
Of course. For war you wanted men, to fight. She had been thinking of
them in the lump: hurrying masses such as one sees on cinema screens,
blurred but picturesque. Of course, when you came to think of it, they
would have to be made up of individuals--gallant-hearted, boyish sort of
men who would pass through doors, one at a time, into little rooms; give
their name and address to a soldier man seated at a big deal table. Later
on, one would say good-bye to them on crowded platforms, wave a
handkerchief. Not all of them would come back. "You can't make
omelettes without breaking eggs," she told herself.
It annoyed her, that silly saying having come into her mind.
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