‘I suppose I need not ask to which other soldier you refer. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable. Pull yourself together now. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife. Think—think of that engagement!” Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to say. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the ingratitude. A woman cannot change her soul.
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