When she spoke the softness was gone from her voice.
"Leaving for France?"
"No. Less luck than that. Leaving for some darn camp in Mississippi."
She shut her eyes and he could see that the lids were trembling.
"Dear little Dot, life is so damned hard."
She was crying upon his shoulder.
"So damned hard, so damned hard," he repeated aimlessly; "it just hurts
people and hurts people, until finally it hurts them so that they can't
be hurt ever any more. That's the last and worst thing it does."
Frantic, wild with anguish, she strained him to her breast.
"Oh, God!" she whispered brokenly, "you can't go way from me. I'd die."
He was finding it impossible to pass off his departure as a common,
impersonal blow. He was too near to her to do more than repeat "Poor
little Dot. Poor little Dot."
"And then what?" she demanded wearily.
"What do you mean?"
"You're my whole life, that's all. I'd die for you right now if you said
so. I'd get a knife and kill myself. You can't leave me here."
Her tone frightened him.
"These things happen," he said evenly.
"Then I'm going with you." Tears were streaming down her checks.
Pages:
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459