“Saul Gordon had just arrived with the news that Hart was on the fireship, and this had been the signal for competitive hysterics on the part of Mrs Mayfield and Miss Bridget. While Claire and Abigail were doing the best they could with sal volatile, burnt feathers, and sympathy, Mrs Purchis was sitting bolt upright in a chair, her face rigid, fighting for composure. Mercy, who knew how bad anxiety was for her, flashed a furious look at Saul Gordon and hastened to reassure her that all but one o...f the men had got safely back on board the boats. “That will be Hart.” His mother spoke with a kind of dry despair. “I’ve had a feeling in my bones all day. Oh, why did this horrible war have to happen? Why must we fight our own kith and kin? And how in the world do we think we are ever going to beat them? If it isn’t today, it will be tomorrow. I shall lose my son, my home, everything!” “But not the cause!” Bridget sat up and dried her tears. “Dear Mrs Purchis, we must not be unworthy of your gallant son!MoreLessRead More Read Less
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