To the sadness that the cold and orderly spoliation caused was added his indignation as an economical man, gazing upon the slashed curtains, spotted rugs, broken crystal and porcelain--all the debris from a ruthless and unscrupulous occupation.
His nephew, divining his thoughts, could only offer the same old excuse--"What a mess!.

.

.

But that is war!" With Moltkecito, he did not have to subside into the respectful civilities of fear.
"That is NOT war!" he thundered bitterly.

"It is an expedition of bandits.