“What’s the matter, father? You seem very tired.”
“I am tired but I have no right to be.”
“It’s the heat.”
“No. This is only the Spring. I feel very low.”
“You have the war disgust.”
“No. But I hate the war.”
“I don’t enjoy it,” I said. He shook his head and looked out of the window.
“You do not mind it. You do not see it. You must forgive me. I know you are wounded.”
“That is an accident.”
“Still even wounded you do not see it. I can tell. I do not see it myself but I feel it a little.”