iefer, this one, than my first; but no less
authentic in impression, and no less clear.

III

I saw, this time, the interior of a small white room, almost bare of
furniture, evidently a private room in some thoroughly appointed modern
hospital. The patient beneath the white coverlet of the single
white-enamelled iron bed was Susan--or the wraith of Susan, so wasted
was she, so still. My breath stopped: I thought it had been given me to
see her at the moment of death; or already dead. Then the door of the
small white room opened, and Jimmy--in his smart horizon-blue uniform
with its coveted shoulder loop, the green-and-red _fouragere_ that
bespoke the bravery of his entire _esquadrille_--came in, treading
carefully on the balls of his feet. As he approached the bedside Susan
opened her eyes--great shadows, gleamless soot-smudges in her pitifully
haggard face. It seemed that she was too weak even to greet him or
smile; her eyes closed again, and Jimmy bent down to her slowly and
kissed her. Then Susan lifted her right hand from the coverlet--I could
feel the effort it cost her--and touched Jimmy's hair. There was no
strength in her to prolong the caress. The hand slipped from him to her
breast.... And my vision ended.

Its close found me on my knees on the tiled floor of my bedroom, as if I
too had tried to go nearer, to bring myself close to her bedside,
perhaps to bury my face in my hands against the white coverlet, her
shroud; to weep there....

I sprang up, wildly enough now, with a harsh shudder, the terrified gasp
of a brute suddenly stricken from ambush, aware only of rooted claws and
a last crushing fury of deep-set fangs.

Susan was dying. I knew not where. I could not reach her. But Jimmy had
reached her. He had been summoned. He had not been too late.

There are moments of blind anguish not to be reproduced for others.
Chaos is everything--and nothing. It cannot be described.

There was nothing really useful I could do that night, not even sleep.
In those days, it was impossible to move anywhere on the railroads of
France without the proper passes and registrations of intention with the
military authorities and the local police. I could, of course,
suffer--that is always a human possibility--and I could attempt, muzzily
enough, to think, to make plans. Where was it most likely that Susan
would be? Was the hospital room that I had seen in Dunkirk, or in Nice,
or at some point between--perhaps at Paris?