“Grant knew what Godsoe meant, then?” Keede snapped.
“Grant knew Godsoe was for it; an’ nothin’ earthly could ’elp or ’inder. He told me so.”
“And then what did you do?”
“I expect I must ’ave kept on carryin’ on, till Headquarters give me that wire from Ma—about Auntie Armine dyin’.”
“When had your Aunt died?”
“On the mornin’ of the twenty-first. The mornin’ of the 21st! That tore it, d’ye see? As long as I could think, I had kep’ tellin’ myself it was like those things you lectured about at Arras when we was billeted in the cellars—the Angels of Mons, and so on. But that wire tore it.”
“Oh! Hallucinations! I remember. And that wire tore it?” said Keede.
“Yes! You see”—he half lifted himself off the sofa—“there wasn’t a single gor-dam thing left abidin’ for me to take hold of, here or hereafter. If the dead do rise and I saw ’em—why—why anything can ’appen. Don’t you understand?”
He was on his feet now, gesticulating stiffly.
“For I saw ’er,” he repeated. “I saw ’im an’ ’er—she dead since mornin’ time, an’ he killin’ ’imself before my livin’ eyes so’s to carry on with ’er for all Eternity—an’ she ’oldin’ out ’er arms for it! I want to know where I’m at! Look ’ere, you two—why stand we in jeopardy every hour?”