"You think our sex has no feeling, I suppose, Sir," cried Mrs. Wood. “Soon enough, John. "This Enschede—the missioner. "God in Heaven!" he cried, "the floor is covered with blood. ’ ‘Capting Roding wouldn’t never command me to help no Frenchie,’ said the sergeant positively. "And I'll bet a doughnut that boy in his soul is crazy to have it over with. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. Wood, when he does return, I'd send him about his business.
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