He understood that song now.

"'What will you leave to your lover, Rendal, my son?

What will you leave to your lover, my pretty one?

A rope to hang her, mother,

A rope to hang her, mother....'"

"Go it, Col-Col!" Out on the terrace Queenie laughed her harsh, cruel

laugh.

"'For I'm sick to my heart and I fain would lie down.'"

"'I'm sick to my heart and I fain would lie down,'" Queenie echoed, with

clipped words, mocking him.

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He hated Queenie.

And he loved her. At night, at night, she would unbend, she would be

tender and passionate, she would touch him with quick, hurrying

caresses, she would put her arms round him and draw him to her, kissing

and kissing. And with her young, beautiful body pressed tight to him,

with her mouth on his and her eyes shining close and big in the

darkness, Colin would forget.

_September 20th, 1914._ Dearest Auntie Adeline,--I haven't been able to write before.

There's been a lot of fighting all round here and we're

frightfully busy getting in wounded. And when you've done you're

too tired to sit up and write letters. You simply roll into bed

and drop off to sleep. Sometimes we're out with the ambulances

half the night.

You needn't worry about me. I'm keeping awfully fit. I _am_

glad now I've always lived in the open air and played games and

ploughed my own land. My muscles are as hard as any Tommie's. So

are Queenie's. You see, we have to act as stretcher bearers as

well as chauffeurs. You're not much good if you can't carry your

own wounded.

Queenie is simply splendid. She really _doesn't_ know what

fear is, and she's at her very best under fire. It sort of

excites her and bucks her up. I can't help seeing how fine she

is, though she was so beastly to poor old Col-Col before he

joined up. But talk of the War bringing out the best in people,

you should simply see her out here with the wounded. Dr. Cutler

(the Commandant) thinks no end of her. She drives for him and I

drive for a little doctor man called Dicky Cartwright. He's

awfully good at his job and decent. Queenie doesn't like him. I

can't think why.

Good-bye, darling. Take care of yourself.

Your loving Anne.

Antwerp. _October 3rd._ ... You ask me what I really think of Queenie at close quarters.

Well, the quarters are very close and I know she simply hates

me. She was fearfully sick when she found we were both in the

same Corps. She's always trying to get up a row about something.

She'd like to have me fired out of Belgium if she could, but I

mean to stay as long as I can, so I won't quarrel with her. She

can't do it all by herself. And when I feel like going back on

her I tell myself how magnificent she is, so plucky and so

clever at her job. I don't wonder that half the men in our Corps

are gone on her. And there's a Belgian Colonel, the one Cutler

gets his orders from, who'd make a frantic fool of himself if

she'd let him. But good old Queenie sticks to her job and

behaves as if they weren't there. That makes them madder. You'd

have thought they'd never have had the time to be such asses in,

but it's wonderful what a state you can get into in your few odd

moments. Dicky says it's the War whips you up and makes it all

the easier. I don't know....




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