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Updated: June 19, 2025
Nothing could touch it. For a moment while McClane was talking she saw, in the flash he gave her, that it was real. And when the flash went it slipped back into her darkness. But on the deck in front of her she could see John walking up and down. She could see the wide road of gold and purple that stretched from the boat's stern to the sun.
There was a stir as Charlotte went in; people shifting their places to make room for her; McClane calling out to her to come and sit by him; Alice Bartrum making sweet eyes; the men getting up and cutting bread and butter and reaching for her cup to give it her. She could see they were all determined to be nice, to show her what they thought of her; they had sent Trixie to bring her in.
She was glad they had been sent out with the McClane Corps to Melle. She wanted McClane to see the stuff that John was made of. She knew what had been going on in the commandant's mind.
At the wide top of the street a table of boards and trestles stood by the foot track, and the stretchers were laid on it as they came in, and the wounded had their first bandaging and dressings there. McClane took up his place by this table, and the stretcher bearers went backwards and forwards between the village and the plantation.
After all, it was there, the romance, the fascination, the glamour; you couldn't deny it any more than you could deny the beating of the blood in your veins. It was their life. They had been in the village three quarters of an hour. John and Charlotte waited while McClane at his table was putting the last bandage on the last wound. In another minute they would be gone.
He was utterly cold, utterly indifferent to everybody and everything except his work of getting in the wounded.... Well, perhaps, if he had been decent to John, she wouldn't have believed a word of it, and anyhow they hadn't come out there to be protected. She had a vision of John and McClane carrying Mrs. Rankin between them on a stretcher. That was what would happen if you hated.
McClane and Sutton were at Melle. They had not been to Berlaere since that day, the first time they had gone out together. That time at least had been perfect; it remained secure; nothing could ever spoil it; she could remember the delight of it, their strange communion of ecstasy, without doubt, without misgiving. You could never forget.
"McClane, she says she won't leave him." "Then," McClane said, "we must take him now. We'll have to make room somehow." Sutton and the soldier carried the captain out and came back for John's body. The Belgian sprang forward with eager, subservient alacrity to put himself at the head of the stretcher, but Sutton thrust him aside.
"Well You wait." They waited. Even the McClane Corps had to wait. "I don't care," said Charlotte, "how beastly they are to me, provided they leave John alone." "What can they do?" he said. "They don't matter." "There's such a lot of them," said Gwinnie. "It's when they're all together they're so poisonous." "It's when they're separate," Charlotte said. "I think Mrs. Rankin does things.
Rankin any good?" she asked presently. John lay back and closed his eyes as if to shut out the sight of Mrs. Rankin. "Don't talk to me," he said, "about that horrible woman." Sutton had turned abruptly from his search. "Good?" he said. "She was magnificent. So was Miss Bartrum. So was McClane." John opened his eyes. "So was Charlotte." "I quite agree with you." Sutton had found his case.
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