I.”
“So do I wish it. So does Teresa. One wonders if it isn’t better to be just a man,” said Kate.
But Teresa said nothing.
“One does what one must. And after all, one is always just a man,” he said. “And if one has wounds—à la guerre comme à la guerre!”
His voice came out of the darkness like a ghost.
“Ah!” sighed Kate. “It makes one wonder what a man is, that he must needs expose himself to the horrors of all the other people.”
There was silence for a moment.
“Man is a column of blood, with a voice in it,” he said. “And when the voice is still, and he is only a column of blood, he is better.”
She went away to her room sadly, hearing the sound of infinite exhaustion in his voice. As if he had