"That's nothing....

Well, I was about to tell you what is so dreadful--for me....

It's to reach home grateful to God I was spared to get home--resigned to the ruin of my life--content to die for whom I fought--my mother, my sister, _you_, and all our women (for I fought for nothing else)--and find my mother aged and bewildered and sad, my sister a painted little hussy--and _you_--a strange creature I despise....

And all, everybody, everything changed--changed in some horrible way which proves my sacrifice in vain....

It is not death that is dreadful, but the uselessness, the hopelessness of the ideal I cherished." Helen fell on the couch, and burying her face in the pillows she began to sob.