He looked at her sideways.
“Do you mean that?”
She smiled back at him.
“You know you’ve thought so, sometimes! So have I. War’s hell, of course. But there was something about it—”
“It’s the impulse that’s gone,” said Bertram. “There doesn’t seem to be any kind of purpose—”
“Love, life, work,” said the nurse.
Bertram said, “Yes. Yes, of course!” and then, “I can’t get the hang of things, quite. I’m just floundering, aimless. And anyhow, there’s no work for my type. I was all right with machine guns. They’re not wanted now.”
“Men are wanted, and always will be,” said the nurse. “Proper men, like you.”
That cheered him. He said no more until the tiny coffin was lowered into the earth and the nurse and he were on their way back.
“Nurse,” he said, “I’ll get a job if I die for it.”