THE RETURN OF THE SOLDIER
in the library over the files of The Times. Jenny, it can’t be true . . . that they did all that to Belgium? Those funny, quiet, stingy people! Has the world gone mad?
Jenny : I think so, Chris.
Chris : Punch gives me the only feeling of sanity. If they could still joke about it. . . . And, Jenny, the casualty lists . . . the names I knew. And it’s still going on, out there . . . every day . . . now, while we’re talking. It’s unbelievable. But, Jenny, I can’t sit here doing nothing, day after day, like this.
Jenny : You’ve done your bit, Chris.
Chris : Have I? I wish I could remember. It’s so awful, Jenny . . . to be right out of the world as I am, out of touch with it all. Not to know . . . to take it all second-hand, what one’s told, and know nothing. Everyone’s in it . . . doing something . . . every man I’ve asked after is either dead or fighting. I’m alone . . . in a world of my own. I don’t know . . . I don’t understand anything that’s happening. (Half whispering) Jenny . . . I’m frightened.
Jenny : Poor old Chris . . . it’s all right. We’re all here to look after you.
Chris (ignoring her) : Only when Margaret’s here can I forget. I remember, when I broke my shoulder playing Rugger, they gave me something . . . some drug . . . to keep me quiet.
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