It was what
they call shell-shock, a terrible thing. Sometimes it drives men
crazy for a while. But the doctors know what to do for that malady.
It passes. You got over it."
"No," answered Pierre, "the doctors may not have known that I had
it. At all events, they did not know what to do for it. It did
not pass. It grew worse. But I hid it, talking very little, never
telling anybody how I felt. They said I was depressed and needed
cheering up. All the while there was that black snake coiled around
my heart, squeezing tighter and tighter. But my body grew stronger
every day. The wounds were all healed. I was walking around. In
July the doctor-in-chief sent for me to his office. He said: 'You
are cured, Pierre Duval, but you are not yet fit to fight. You are
low in your mind. You need cheering up. You are to have a month's
furlough and repose. You shall go home to your farm. How is it that
you call it?' I suppose I had been babbling about it in my sleep
and one of the nurses had told him. He was always that way, that
little Doctor Roselly, taking an interest in the men, talking
with them and acting friendly.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98