‘There’s a surgeon on his way, and my men are under orders to do whatever is needful. Selfishness. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. And now— I suppose I should be considered too old. ‘But I’ve known that for years. It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now. A town called Foster. And this is not France, you understand. ‘Do not say such things, you—you imbecile.
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