“How could you be so cruel? What did you do it for?  What did you do it for?”

“I wanted you to see what they’ve done with him.  There’s his clean bed.  They haven’t even taken his boots off.”

“You brute.  You utter brute!”

A steely sound like a dropped hammer came from behind the glass partition; then the sliding of a latch.  John opened the door a little way and she slipped out past him.

“Next time,” he said, “perhaps you’ll do as you’re told.”

She wanted to get away by herself.  Not into her own room, where Gwinnie, who had been unloading ambulance trains half the night, now rested.  The McClane Corps was crowding into the messroom for tea.  She passed through without looking at any of them and out to the balcony, closing the French window behind her.  She could hide there beyond the window where the wall was blank.

She leaned back, flattening herself against the wall....

Something would have to be done.  They couldn’t go on like this....  Her mind went to and fro, quickly, with short jerky movements, distressed; it had to do so much thinking in so short a time.

She would always have to reckon with John’s fear.  And John’s fear was not what she had thought it, a sad, helpless, fatal thing, sad because it knew itself doom-like and helpless.  It was cruel, with a sort of mental violence in it, worse than the cruel animal fear of the men in the plantation.  She could see that his cowardice had something to do with his cruelty and that his cruelty was somehow linked up with his cowardice; but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine the secret of the bond.  She only felt that it would be something secret and horrible; something that she would rather not know about.

And she knew that since yesterday he had left off caring for her.  His love had died a sudden, cruel and violent death.  His cowardice had done that too....  And he had left off caring for the wounded.  It was almost as if he hated them, because they lay so still, keeping him back, keeping him out under the fire.

Queer, but all those other cowardly things that he had done had seemed to her unreal even when she had seen him doing them; and afterwards when she thought about them they were unreal, as if they hadn’t happened, as if she had just imagined them.  Incredible, and yet the sort of thing you could imagine if you tried.  But that last devilish thing he did, it had a hard, absolute reality.  Just because it was inconceivable, because you couldn’t have imagined it, you couldn’t doubt that it had happened.

It was happening now.  As long as she lived it would go on happening in her mind.  She would never get away from it.

There were things that men did, bestial things, cruel things, things they did to women.  But not things like this.  They didn’t think of them, because this thing wasn’t thinkable.