But it's pretty obvious that it is so; that's enough
for me."
"I don't see why it's obvious," Sally persisted.
Janet stood away from the table and held out her arms--the thin,
fleshless arms--straight, no deviation to the ungainly shoulders.
There was unconscious drama in it. Yet she was the last person in
the world to act.
"Well, _look_ at me," she said.
Sally only looked at her eyes, and her lips twitched compassionately.
"You may be all wrong," she said. "I may have to fight as well--you
don't know--and somebody, you can never tell, may fight for you."
Janet took the round, warm cheeks in her hands and caressed them with
the long, sensitive fingers.
"That'll never be," she said quietly--"never--never. I know it right
away in here." She laid her hand upon her chest.
"But why?" Sally repeated petulantly, as though wishing it could
alter the truth.
"Because I suppose I really want to do the fighting, however much
I may think differently, when I see you and hear you talk, when your
heart's going and there's all the meaning of it in your eyes. I've
got to fight, and away inside me I want to. I suppose that's the
compensation."
Then Mrs.
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