He was nervous and stood
stiffly.
"Beg pardon, nurse," he said, "but we've sent for a stretcher, as the
police don't seem in any hurry. Would you like us to take him. Or would
it upset him, do you think, if he knew?"
"Thank you," she answered. "He would think it kind of you, I know."
She had the feeling that he was being borne by comrades.
CHAPTER XVII
It was from a small operating hospital in a village of the Argonne that
she first saw the war with her own eyes.
Her father had wished her to go. Arthur's death had stirred in him the
old Puritan blood with its record of long battle for liberty of
conscience. If war claimed to be master of a man's soul, then the new
warfare must be against war. He remembered the saying of a Frenchwoman
who had been through the Franco-Prussian war. Joan, on her return from
Paris some years before, had told him of her, repeating her words: "But,
of course, it would not do to tell the truth," the old lady had said, "or
we should have our children growing up to hate war."
"I'll be lonely and anxious till you come back," he said.
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