“And the girl?” asked the Soldier.
“Has not got over it yet,” said the Doctor.
“And did she ever hear from him again?” demanded the Barrister.
“Once, from France. Written just before—the end. She didn’t show me that one. Pass the whisky, Actor-man. Talking makes one’s throat infernally dry.”
| IV | The Ordinary Man’s Story, being The Pipes of Death |
“Any of you know Burma?” asked the Ordinary Man, putting out his hand for the tobacco-jar.
“I’ve been there,” grunted the Soldier. “Shooting. Years ago. West of the Irawadi from Rangoon.”