. 95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. ’ ‘Slaughtered with the rest, was she?’ Despite his hatred of the woman who had caused so much grief, the general found he could not rejoice as he wanted to. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation. She could have dined alone in her room; but courage had demanded that she face the ordeal and have done with it. At once. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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