"Après la guerre," she murmured. "How often have I heard that here! After the war we shall have our lives."
A blind poilu went by on the arm of a girl and, though his eyes were covered with a bandage and his free hand moved gropingly, his laugh was that of a lover, and not a hopeless one. Boone's fingers closed over those of the girl.
"After the war!" he breathed, in a low and vibrant voice.