“Something like that.”
“That’s mostly what war is like. But there must be change and contrast, laughter, music and the lighter touch or we break and then we’re no good.”
Music, laughter, and the lighter touch, that was what they had during the next swiftly passing hours. The dances were all waltzes. The strange, fantastic orchestra—Mary could not name half the instruments—played very well. There was a wild ecstasy running through it all. The shrill pipe of reed instruments, the tom-tom-tom of strange drums at times set her blood tingling. Then, too, there were moments of quiet, swinging rhythm that set her dreaming.
The people too were interesting, intriguing. Dark-eyed, Egyptian women; slender, young French officers; smiling, little French ladies with faces like dolls; imperial dames from the British Isles—all these swung past her and on out of sight.
The Quiet, Swinging Rhythm Set Her Dreaming
She danced with Ramsey, with her father, and with nice British and American boys to whom she was introduced.
“This,” she said to Ramsey, “is the sort of life I used to love.”