A friend of mine was blown up last week. I found him before anyone else. He was still alive, just about, but not in pain yet. I wanted to kill him. You wouldn’t let a horse or a dog suffer like that. But I’m a gentleman, and gentlemen don’t kill their friends. I hovered with my hand at my revolver, trying to force myself one way or the other. What is civilised in such circumstances? But then another officer arrived. He saw where my hand was and looked at me with revulsion. I felt a monster.
