She pushed at the closer of the two soldiers bearing the precious burden. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. She fought him with tooth and nail. I don’t want you to be sad. . ” “What?” “That’s the devil of it!” “Devil of what?.
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