If _they_ win, the world won't be
worth living in, for the Anglo-Saxon. So we've got to beat them. Every
man's job from now on is going to be either fighting or working. We've
got to have ships. I'm organizing that yard to work top-speed. I'm
trying to set a pace. Watch us on the North Shore. The man in the
trenches won't say we didn't back him up."
It sounded well. To Thompson it gave a feeling of dissatisfaction which
was nowise lessened by the momentary gleam in Sophie's eyes as they
rested briefly on Tommy and passed casually to him--and beyond.
He was growing slowly to understand that the war had somehow--in a
fashion beyond his comprehension--bitten deep into Sophie Carr's soul.
She thought about it, if she seldom talked. What was perhaps more vital,
she _felt_ about it with an intensity Thompson could not fathom, because
he had not experienced such feeling himself. He only divined this.
Sophie never paraded either her thoughts or her feelings. And divining
this uneasily he foresaw a shortening of his stature in her eyes by
comparison with Tommy Ashe--who had become a doer, a creator in the
common need, while _he_ remained a gleaner in the field of
self-interest. Thompson rather resented that imputation.
Pages:
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282