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Show CHAPTER ELEVEN "Dying bravely and in valor true? Is that what they called it?" Andrew said when I told him about Grandmother's words. "It does sound pretty and strong, don't it?" He lit another cigarette. He had taken to smoking more when we were together, but he always asked me first if I minded. I never did but I loved the asking. "Gallant, too," I added. "All the soldiers died gallant, didn't they?" "That they did. Gallant under fire, gallant under gas, gallant in the trenches while we kick 'em in the . . . " Andrew stopped and grinned at me. "But you're not ready for our jokes, little girl, are you? I have to keep reminding myself what a baby you are." "I'm not a baby. I'm twelve. And I'm tall for my age." "That you are. Now don't get ruffled like an old hen. I'm not making fun. Just some things shouldn't be told to one as young as you." And Andrew turned his back to me where I sat across from him at our table, turned and looked out over the shady afternoon. I knew he meant more than just the song he had started to sing. Since the one day I had shown him the book about France, he had never again talked of the war or what he had seen or done. I never asked, fearing to wake again the whispering memories that had crept across the pages of the castles of France. I stared at his back for a moment and then stood up to get out of the sun. As I did, I noticed a small box lying on the edge of the table on top of the morning's paper. Andrew's name was written across the top. "Did you get a present? Is it your birthday?" I picked it up and sat down beside Andrew in the shade. |