Laughter of spite at a remark either silly or slyly defiant was checked in Fleetwood by the horror of the feeling that she had gone, was ankle- deep in bloody mire, captive, prey of a rabble soldiery, meditating the shot or stab of the blessed end out of woman's half of our human muddle.
He said to Chillon: 'Pardon me, war is a detestable game. Women in the thick of it add a touch to the brutal hideousness of the whole thing.'
Chillon said: 'We are all of that opinion. Men have to play the game; women serving in hospital make it humaner.'
'Their hospitals are not safe.'
'Well! Safety!'
For safety is nowhere to be had. But the earl pleaded: 'At least in our country.'
'In our country women are safe?'
'They are, we may say, protected.'
'Laws and constables are poor protection for them.'
'The women we name ladies are pretty safe, as a rule.'