There was no thundering heartbeat, no throbbing eyes ordifficulty breathing--no panic attack, in other words--but there was nostory, either. They'd been talk-ing about the air raids and poison gas and the effect of the war news downtown and the Bowmen of Mons andthe Maid of Orleans and she said she believed in the supernatural, and J. Just not a black one, I said. Once they get you in the army you can't howl about civic liberty or the Bil of Rights .
She took up a pencil and started drawing scrol s round the edge of a piece of typewriter paper. She was crying. On a coupleof occasions I had awakened with a sensation Mattie had once mentioned--that there was someone in bed with me. Most times, really.
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