She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. How is she?” “My sister is quite well, thank you,” she answered. She pushed at the closer of the two soldiers bearing the precious burden. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. “I will make of the days and weeks one long morning, but remember the afternoon must come. She was in a very uncritical state that afternoon. ‘Very well, Kimble. Nor can we. She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting.
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