Lucy Weatherby⁠—Lucy Shepley⁠—Lucy Wingate⁠— Huger’s so jealous, nearly as jealous as Curly, Poor Curly⁠—I ought to answer his mother’s letter But it’s so hard answering letters.” She cried a little, Thinking of Curly. The tears were fluent and warm, They did not sting in her eyes. They made her feel brave. She could hardly remember Curly any more But it was right to cry for him, now and then, Slight tears at night and a long, warm, dreamless sleep That left you looking pretty. She dried the tears And thought to herself with a pleasant little awe, “You really are mighty brave, dear. You really are. Nobody would think your beau was killed at Manassas.” —She could hardly remember Curly any more⁠— She tried to make Curly’s face come out of the darkness But it was too hard⁠—the other faces kept coming⁠— Huger Shepley and all the Virginia boys And now this new boy’s face with the dark, keen eyes.