“What’s the matter, father? You seem very tired.” “I am tired but I have no right to be.” “It’s the heat.” “No. This is only the spring. I feel very low.” “You have the war disgust.” “No. But I hate the war.” “I don’t enjoy it,” I said. He shook his head and looked out of the window. “You do not mind it. You do not see it. You must forgive me. I know you are wounded.”
