James's for
the purpose.
Poor old Fortune! what could she say next? She'd look at me, more in
sorrow than in anger, and murmur, "Aren't you forgetting that this is
a war and you are supposed to be fighting it?" Did I blush for shame?
Not I. As bold as brass I'd look old Fortune straight in the face
and, with righteous indignation, would say, "I know as well as you do,
Ma'am, that it is a war; but there's no reason why it shouldn't be a
_just_ war." Thinking it out I have never been quite able to see what
I meant by that, as applied to my own case. However, I seem to have
said the right thing, and it appears to have impressed Fortune very
considerably, because--well, Charles, here I am.
Yet if there is justice in this world (and I subsist on the confident
hope and belief that there is not) I know what the end of it must be.
That confounded orderly, turned traitor, will one day search me out,
however far I may have wandered from the battlefield meanwhile, and,
saluting ironically, will hand me an envelope marked "Urgent, secret,
confidential, personal, private.
Pages:
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30