But he looked out,
those days, on but half a world, did Jean. So he saw only the woman
hunger in Henri, and nothing deeper. And in Sara Lee a woman, and
nothing more.
And--being Jean he shrugged his shoulders.
They fell to discussing ways and means. The chocolate could be cut out,
but not the cigarettes. Sara Lee, arguing vehemently for them and
trying to forget other things, remembered suddenly how Uncle James had
hated cigarettes, and that Harvey himself disapproved of them. Somehow
Harvey seemed, those days, to present a constant figure of disapproval.
He gave her no moral support.
At Jean's suggestion she added to her report of so many men fed with
soup, so much tobacco, sort not specified, so many small wounds
dressed--a request that if possible her allowance be increased. She did
it nervously, but when the letter had gone she felt a great relief. She
enclosed a snapshot of the little house.
Jean, as it happens, had lied about Henri. Not once, but several times.
He had told Marie, for instance, that Henri was in England, and later
on he told Rene. Then, having done his errand, he drove six miles back
along the main road to Dunkirk and picked up Henri, who was sitting on
the bank of a canal watching an ammunition train go by.
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