It looks like there'd been a
primary itself."
All thought that was the best of jokes and laughed. They passed round a
great chasm in the street and sidewalk. Then they came to long rows of
bodies stretched on the grass, or rather what was left of the grass, in
the Park. Leonore shuddered. "Are they all dead?" she whispered. "Dead!
Shurely not. It's the regiment sleepin'," she was told. They passed
between these rows for a little distance. "This is him," said Dennis,
"sleepin' like a babby." Dennis turned his back and began to describe
the explosion to Mrs. D'Alloi and Watts.
There, half covered with a blanket, wrapped in a regulation great coat,
his head pillowed on a roll of newspapers, lay Peter. Leonore knelt down
on the ground beside him, regardless of the proprieties or the damp. She
listened to hear if he was breathing, and when she found that he
actually was, her face had on it a little thanksgiving proclamation of
its own. Then with the prettiest of motherly manners, she softly pulled
the blanket up and tucked it in about his arms.
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