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Updated: June 25, 2025
"I like going out of my way. I did it for fun. For the adventure." You could see he was innocent and happy, like a child. She turned and went with him up the field. She wouldn't go to Bourton-on-the-Hill. She would go back to the hotel and see whether there was a wire for her from Gwinnie.... He liked going out of his way. "I suppose," he said, "there's something the other side of that gate."
From September nineteen-thirteen to December to March nineteen-fourteen, to June she had been at the farm nine months. June May April. This time three months ago John had come. In the bottom of the field, at the corner by the yard-gate, under the elms, she could see Gwinnie astride over the tilted bucket, feeding the calves. It was Gwinnie's turn. She heard the house door open and shut.
"No. That makes it simply awful." "Pretty awful." "Billy we must get him back." "I I don't know about that. He isn't much good, is he? I think we'd better let him go." "Don't you see how awful it'll be for the Corps?" "The Corps? Does that matter? McClane would take us all on to-morrow." "I mean for us. You and me and Gwinnie. He's our Corps, and we're it."
Gwinnie struck in, "Are you all right?" "Yes, rather.... The little Belgian Army doctor was there. He was adorable, sticking on, working away with his wounded, in a sort of heavenly peace, with the Germans just outside." "How many did you get?" "Eleven Thirteen." "Oh good.... I've the rottenest luck. I'd have given my head to have gone with you." "I'm glad you didn't.
Lying on her bed that night Charlotte made it out. "Gwinnie you know why McClane won't have John?" "I suppose because Mrs. Rankin's keen on him." "McClane isn't keen on Mrs. Rankin.... Can't you see he's trying to hoof John out of Belgium, because he wants all the glory to himself? We wouldn't do that to one of them, even if we were mean enough not to want them in it." "He wanted Sutton."
She would have to wire to Gwinnie Denning to meet her at Cirencester. She wondered whether Gwinnie's mother's lumbago would last over the week-end. It was Friday. Perhaps Gwinnie had started. Perhaps there would be a wire from her at the hotel. Going on to Cirencester when you wanted to be in Stow-on-the-Wold, what was it but a cowardly retreat? Driven out of Stow-on-the-Wold by Gibson? Not she!
It was odd, but John had never shown the smallest desire to go without her. If he hadn't liked it he could easily have taken Sutton or Gwinnie or one of the McClane men. It was as if, in spite of his hostility, he still felt, as he had said, that where she was everything would be right. And it looked as if this time nothing could go wrong.
Gwinnie was looking in at the messroom door and saying "Do you know where Charlotte is?" Mrs. Rankin's voice called out, "I think you'll find her in Mr. Conway's bedroom." One of the chauffeurs laughed. Charlotte knew what they were thinking. Gwinnie failed to retort. She was excited, shaken out of her stolidity. "Oh, there you are! I've got something ripping to tell you. Not in here."
In the dark of the room she could see Gwinnie's little body straining back from the waist, her legs stiffening, her face pink and swollen; and John's face looking at Gwinnie. She shouted down at him, "Why can't you take the damned thing? She'll break her back with it." And he shouted up, "That's her look-out." That time.
And anyhow she would get through to-day without being afraid of what might happen. John couldn't do anything awful; he had been ordered on an absolutely safe expedition, taking medical stores to the convent hospital at Bruges and convoying Gurney, the sick chauffeur, to Ostend for England. Charlotte was to go out with Sutton, and Gwinnie was to take poor Gurney's place.
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