The Romantic

wa

the stretcher. His car, packed with wounded, stood a little way up the street, headed for Ghent. Sutto

on into the house opposite, the house with the narrow grey shutte

es, his back propped against the stable wall. He was safe th

e been left behind if they had not foun

the house with the narrow shutters, wounded, limping, his foot bound to a splint. Then Sutton came, hurrying to

ad to Sutton's car; she saw them get in

omething behind him in the room. The same instant she heard the explosion and saw the shell burst in the middle of the street, not fifty yards from the

lift up the Belgian and carry him out. She stooped over him, put her hands under his armpi

the grating noise of a car backing, it was the scream of a c

d she saw John's car rushi

t. His eyes moved. Blac

he said, that they

but he would remember; he would come back. In fi

ng something. He compla

xious about himself,

to have been left. She

besid

d. "He'll come back." When he

aited hal

over there at the backs of t

street under the wall of the Town Hall. They would be sure to ai

ormous chute. It came from the other side of the street a little way down. It couldn't be far from the Town Hall. That settled it. Mu

ohn was not coming back

reath, of the warm sweat that oozed through his tunic, the hot, fetid smell that came through his unlaced boots. She didn't care; she was too sorry for him. She could feel nothing but the helpless pressure of his body against hers

re for life, a horror of the unjus

ath. If nobody came she would walk bac

nd the cranking of the engine. But she could see him rushing. If only she knew why he had left them…. She wanted to

forgetting the wounded man. How could you forget a wounded man? Whe

, too?… He hadn't forgotten. She could see him looking back over his shoulder; looking at something that was lying there, that couldn't be anything but a wounded man. Or a dead man. Whatever

man in the room John had left; she saw his head turning to the doorway, and his eyes, frighten

there. She raised the Belgian's head, gently, from her shoulder. She would have to wake him and

oss the road. It was too dangerous. Mademoiselle would be hit. He played on her pity with

nute. I think there's a wounded man

ity of her purpose. "If only I were not wounded, if only

*

one hand, half clenched, half relaxed, on his breast under the drooped chin; so that at first she thought he was alive, sleeping. She knelt down beside him and clasped his wrist; she unbuttoned his tunic and put

Not more than sixteen. Jo

certainty so long as she didn't know w

nless he had been dead. Her mind worked rapidly, jumping from point to point, trying to find some endurable resting place…. He was so young, so small, so light. Light. It wouldn't take t

hat John had left there. She felt tired out and weak, sick with her belief, her fear of what John had

e yard. He had dragged himself there, crawling o

o look for you,

John. Something closed down between them. Black. Black; shutting him off, closing her heart against him, leaving her heart hard and sick. The light went slo

again when she heard the amb

*

you, Ch

What made

nk. Said he'd lost you. He th

would be if

o go on with you." She could hear him tell

enough. I had an operation…. Is that a wounded

t know he

s

Billy would know. B

when you left him! The bo

ng his bandages, and he didn't answer a

?" she

that Billy w

uldn't say to him, "I want to know w

on's voice came up slow and m

e known. Vaguely for a moment she wondered why Billy

n isn't hu

I made him go and lie down…. Loo

*

hey greeted her with shouts of joy, but their eyes looked at her

in with us, Charlotte,"

mislaid among the shell

ok Charlotte out among

leave h

try n

got her or not. But John cared. If only she knew why…. Their queer faces sobered her and suddenly she knew. She saw S

e must really have thought

n't go. He must have known that if he told

w John standing between the glasses of the two doors. He came in and she heard Mrs. Ran

use she couldn't make him come to her, couldn't make him look with pleasure at her beautiful, arrogant face. She disliked Sutton and McClane for the same reason, but she hated John. He treated her f

ectly awake. But at the sound of the rasping voice his mouth had tightened; it was pinched and sharp with pain. He di

got up, one after a

d, "did you really

left me. But I

it wasn't

side me

ld me you were going on with