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"On the Firing Line"

Now and then he thought of the one who had
chosen to fire those bullets, taboo of all but the most brutal
warfare. At such times, he rose and fell to pacing restlessly up and
down the car. Then he controlled himself and resumed his seat.
Moment by moment, almost second by second, the dreary night had worn
away. It was full morning when the train had halted inside the
familiar station. After his vigil, the healthy stir of the streets
appeared to Weldon like the confused picture of a dream, and it had
been like a man in a dream that he had been driven away to the
hospital. Then, on the steps, he had seen Ethel, and the dream had
been shattered, giving way, for the instant, to the perfect
happiness of reality.
But the surgeons at Johannesburg had shaken their heads. The delay,
although unavoidable, had been full of danger. One only chance
remained, and they would take that chance. Weldon had lingered until
he was ordered away; then, with Ethel beside him, he had gone to
find a doctor who could dress his own wounds and make him fit to
face the ordeal which he knew was awaiting him. For one short
moment, he had felt Ethel's hands busy about his shoulder and head
and wrist, had rejoiced in the quiet strength of their soothing
touch.


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