Victor Johns

“ MY exclamation of horror drew Lawrence's attention to the repellent sight. At that moment the gruesome thing turned fall upon us.
Lawrence fumbled with his cigarettes: the case fell from his trembling hands and clattered to the pavement. Quickly he reached down, but did not straighten up again until after the man—a sailor, to judge from his rolling gait, though he wore no uniform—had gone.
"Poor soul," I said. "How his fingers must ache to choke the life from the Boche responsible for that."
Lawrence made no reply. He was drained of blood. He sat rigid, petrified. ”

“ I told him I was sorry.
"'Pedro,' I explained, 'ever since I can remember, things connected with death have been the only things I've feared. I have never in my life been in a cemetery—and I have never seen a dead body. Just to hear of them brings out a cold sweat.' Pedro laughed and said cemeteries—or dead bodies—couldn't hurt one."
This phase of Lawrence's susceptibility I had not known. And then his pictures in Paris danced before me. What had Pedro to do with them? What had Pedro to do with the change in my friend? But I asked no questions lest I rouse Lawrence to a stubborn silence. ”

“ Lawrence said afterward that had she struck him he could not have been more shocked. He broke the engagement that afternoon.
"Come, drink up, man!" I urged. "Stop looking as though you'd seen a ghost."
"Things other than ghosts can haunt one," he answered in a pinched tone. ”