"Oh, he? Yes, I think he was."
"Divorced?"
"Yes, divorced. What of it?"
"To whom had he been married?"
"How should I know? It was to—to some low creature, an actress or something, the sort of thing men do when they're young and—and—"
"And wild?"
"Wild, if you like. Why are you asking?"
But I was not sure of being ready to tell her, so many things had to be formulated first. To gain more time I lighted another cigarette, and she spoke while I was doing it. Holding her own cigarette delicately, as if examining its spark, she said, with a staccato intonation that emphasized each word:
"Billy, you remember what I said earlier this afternoon? I can go back to our past and try to pick it up. I can't go back to anything that comes after that past and—and before to-day. Do you understand? It's more than three years since they told me your section was blown to pieces at Bourg-la-Comtesse. Most of your comrades were found—-and buried. You were missing; but missing with very little hope. As the weeks went by that little hope dwindled till there was none. Then came the news that—that all that time you had been—alive."
"And I suppose that Wolf told you..."