"Yes," Socola answered. "I asked you about your older brother because I don't like the idea of you poisoning your beautiful young life with hatred. Such thoughts kill—they can't bring health and strength, Miss Jennie."
"Of course," the girl responded tenderly, "you can see things more calmly. You can't understand how deep the knife has entered our hearts in the South."
"That's just what I do understand. It's that against which I'm warning you. This war can't last always you know. There must be a readjustment—"
"Between the North and South?"
"Of course—"
"Never!"
With sudden emotion she leaped to her feet her little fists clinched. She stood trembling in silence for a moment and her face paled.
"No, Signor," she went on in cold tones. "There can be no readjustment of this war. It's to the death now. I confess myself a rebel body and soul—Confess? I glory in it! I'm proud of being one. I thought my father extravagant at first. Ben Butler has changed my views. The South can't look back now. It's forward—forward—always forward to death—or independence!"
She paused overcome with emotion.