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Updated: June 19, 2025
If Billy Sutton distinguished himself that would open McClane's eyes a little wider, too. She wondered why Billy kept on saying that McClane was a great psychologist. If it was true that would be very awful for McClane; he would see everything going on inside people, then, all the things he didn't want to see; he wouldn't miss anything, and he would know all the time what John was like.
After she had drunk the hot black coffee that Alice Bartrum gave her she was all right. The men had gone out of the messroom, leaving them alone. "I'm all right, Trixie, only a bit tired." "Tired? I should think you were tired. That Conway man's a perfect devil. Fancy scooting back himself on a safe trip and sending you out to Zele. Zele!" "McClane doesn't care much where he sends you."
She went down the lane with her stretcher and McClane waited for them at the top. The doors of the houses were open; Flemish women stood outside, looking up to the street. There was one house with a shut door, a tall green door; she thought that would be the one that John had gone into. She rapped and he opened the door and came striding out, holding his head high.
At the other John's body lay on a stretcher set up on a trestle table, his feet turned outwards to the door, ready. The corners at this end were so dark that the body seemed to stretch across the whole width of the room. A soldier came forward with a lighted candle and gave it to McClane. And she saw John's face; the bridge of his nose, with its winged nostrils lifted.
And he knows how true it is." "Does he? Well he shan't have my ambulances. You don't suppose I'm going to let McClane fire me out of Belgium?... I suppose he put you up to this...." He stood up as a sign to her to leave him. "I don't see that there's anything more to be said." "There's one thing." I swore, if I had to choose between you and the wounded, it shouldn't be you."
It seemed that John had told him the chances were he would be killed and had asked him whether in this case he would allow the Roden ambulances to be handed over to McClane. And the old man had given his consent. "Isn't it a pity to frighten him?" she said. "He's no business to be frightened. It's my death. If I can face it, he can. I'm simply making necessary arrangements." She could see that.
"Oh, Sutton He wasn't afraid of him.... When you think of the war and think of people being like that. Jealous. Hating each other " You mightn't like Mrs. Rankin, Mrs. Rankin and McClane; but you couldn't say they weren't splendid. Five days had passed. On the third day the McClane Corps had been sent out. It went again and again.
A German's put a bullet into him." "Where is he?" She jumped down off the car. McClane laid his hand on her arm. "Don't. We shall bring him in " "He's dead then?" "I think so You'd better not go to him." "Of course I'm going to him. Where is he?" He steered her very quickly and carefully across the street, then led her with his arm in hers, pressing her back to the dark shelter of the houses.
She wanted to get away by herself. Not into her own room, where Gwinnie, who had been unloading ambulance trains half the night, now rested. The McClane Corps was crowding into the messroom for tea. She passed through without looking at any of them and out to the balcony, closing the French window behind her. She could hide there beyond the window where the wall was blank.
Sutton followed with Alice Bartrum; then the McClane men; they nodded to her and smiled. Then McClane, late, running, trying to overtake John and Mrs. Rankin, to get to the head of his unit. Perhaps he was afraid that John, in his khaki, would be mistaken for the commandant. How childish he was with his fear and jealousy. Childish. She thought of his petulant refusal to let John come in with them.
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