She offered him his medication but he pushed it away.
"The war news is encouraging. No doubt Germany's beaten. I can make a try at things back home. A try at living. I'm serious, Jean. Listen to me. Sit down and listen ...
"I want to marry you. Will it be all right? Just don't pity me--understand! We can get married in, in Rethel, if you wish. You can decide where. Will you? I love you ... Let's try to make a go of it. Shall we?" He asked, and yet he knew how little he had to offer. As a swimmer, he recognized, he was far from shore.
Her face softened and became very beautiful. Bending over him, she kissed him lovingly, and then laughed, laughed sadly, agreeing: we'll likely make out pretty well.
"All right ... it's okay ... we'll get married in Rethel."
"As soon as I can ... soon as you wish."
"I'm glad, darling."
A red barn and lots of snow, she thought. I'll be able to aid him, in Wisconsin, in New York.
"Please help me into bed ... I'll do my best ... I have to say it ... it won't be easy!"
Settled under the covers, he lay motionless, stiff, tired, his fingers in hers, the undercurrent of doubt coursing through him: too soon they would be aware of daily dilemmas and responsibilities: plugging through life alone might be more difficult; together they might knock down a few hazards.