” He said mischievously. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. There is a place—This isn’t the place. ‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. But one thing troubled him, and because of it he might never arrive on the beach.
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