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Updated: June 3, 2025
It was one in a street of £30-a-year houses, with large bow-windows, small gardens, red-and-white striped curtains to protect green-painted front doors. He made a motion of his hand, half-heartedly inviting her to enter. She shook her head. "I've been in once to-day," she said. "Mrs Kilbourne asked me to get her something in the town, and I took it in."
When the rush came, at a pre-arranged signal, many would be killed by American soldiers surrounding the building, but some would get through and accomplish their mission. One successful fire bomb would do the work. Against this danger Colonel Kilbourne provided in a simple way.
He pushed open the gate, and, taking no further notice of her, walked up the little path to his door. Reaching it, he found her behind him. With that air of girlish authority he had once found so pleasant, "I am coming in," she said. He led the way into that bow-windowed room in which Mrs Kilbourne had died.
It required the exertion of all his strength to get her into the desired position. One leg was like a log, and was lifted as if it did not belong to her. All the cushions had to be shaken up and replaced, the coverlet respread on her ice-cold feet. But Kilbourne was used to such services; if his face was lowering as he performed them, his fingers were deft.
The universe had not been created for life, ease, pleasure, and happiness of a man creature developed from lower organisms. If nature's secret was the developing of a spirit through all time, Carley divined that she had it within her. So the present meant little. "I have no right to be unhappy," concluded Carley. "I had no right to Glenn Kilbourne. I failed him. In that I failed myself.
"'I'm not carin' much for what them herders say, replied Ruff. "'Do you deny it? demanded Glenn. "'I ain't denyin' nothin', Kilbourne, growled Ruff. 'I might argue against me bein' disrespectful. That's a matter of opinion. "'You'll apologize for speaking to Miss Burch or I'll beat you up an' have Hutter fire you. "'Wal, Kilbourne, I never eat my words, replied Ruff.
"But I can tell you something of what Glenn Kilbourne means in that letter if you want to hear it." "I do indeed." "The war did something horrible to Glenn aside from wrecking his health. Shell-shock, they said! I don't understand that. Out of his mind, they said! But that never was true. Glenn was as sane as I am, and, my dear, that's pretty sane, I'll have you remember.
"If I were only sure we'd be married!" he said, in low, tense voice, as if speaking more to himself. "Married!" cried Carley, convulsively clasping him. "Of course we'll be married. Glenn, you wouldn't jilt me?" "Carley, what I mean is that you might never really marry me," he answered, seriously. "Oh, if that's all you need be sure of, Glenn Kilbourne, you may begin to make love to me now."
One teeny, weeny one!" She was allowed by the doctor a certain modicum of whisky in the day, and the dose, for safety's sake, Kilbourne always administered himself. "You can have it half now and half when you go to bed at night, if you like," he said at length, and got up and poured the portion from a bottle, which he locked away again in the sideboard.
And by some miracle beyond the power of understanding he had found day by day in his painful efforts some hope and strength to go on. He could not have had any illusions. For Glenn Kilbourne the health and happiness and success most men held so dear must have seemed impossible. His slow, daily, tragic, and terrible task must have been something he owed himself. Not for Carley Burch!
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