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Atlantic Narratives
Modern Short Stories

written by "Dwight, H. G."
... have time to look an' think too much—an' it was mighty lucky I didn't have. They were all English an' had run upon a German battery an' been shot to pieces 'fore they hardly knew what was happenin.' I guess some of 'em must have got away, but there was a plenty that didn't. They'd been layin' there since dawn, an'—an' they were hungry—' her voice broke. 'An' I didn't have anything to give 'em,' she whispered. 'They say after a while you get kind of numb to things,' she went on presently, with her grave simplicity. 'I don't know how that is, but I know the things I saw made me stop every now an' then down by the creek out of sight, an' just wring an' wring my hands together in a kind of rage of pity. Once, goin' through the wheat, I tramped on something soft, an' when I looked, it was—it was just a piece of a man. I thought I'd lay right down then an' die, but I says to myself, "They want water, they want water"—an' that way I kind of drove myself on. But all the time I could see my heart under my waist just jumpin' up an' down, like it was fightin' to jump out an' run away. An' then another time—' But she broke off. 'No,' she said, 'I won't tell about that. It's so peaceful here with that blue water an' sunshine an' all, I reckon I oughtn't to tell what it's like underneath when Hell takes the lid off. An' maybe some day the Lord'll let me forget. 'But it's funny,' she went on again presently, 'how your mind grabs ahold of any foolish thing to steady you.' She paused, staring down at the little cup as though she drew remembrance from it. 'I recollect as I went back and forth, back and forth, weaving out paths through the wheat, a silly song that we used to sing to a game at school kept runnin' in my head:— I don't want none of your weevily wheat, An' I don't want none of your barley; An' I don't want none of your weevily wheat To bake a cake for Charley. 'I was mighty glad it did. Fo...

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