’ ‘Miss?’ gaped the soldier. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. ‘Exactly like my father. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. They are tending to congregate, our poor French friends. It’s well hidden, miss. Wood, ironically; "but I used to think it required something more than mere words to prove that a person's character was abused.
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