"I feel sorry for you," Tom blurted out with simple honesty, "and I got to thank you. Both of us have—that's one sure thing. You're worse off than we are—and it makes me feel mean, like. But maybe it won't be so bad. And, gee, I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow night, too."
"I will bring ze sings, surely," she said earnestly.
"It isn't—it isn't only for that," he mumbled, "it's because I'll kind of look forward to seeing you anyway."
For another moment she lingered and in the stillness of night and the thickly roofed arbor he could hear her breath coming short and quick, as she tried to stifle her emotion.
"Is—is it a sound?" she whispered in sudden terror.
"No, it's only because you're scared," said Tom.
He stood looking after her as she hurried away under the ramshackle trellis until her slender figure was lost in the darkness.
"It'll make me fight harder, anyway," he said to himself; "it'll help me to get to France 'cause—'cause I got to, and if you got to do a thing—you can...."