"
It was now about 6:30 and on our way back to the gun pit we met a woman
who seemed to be in the depths of despair, accompanied by a little girl.
The woman was weeping bitterly. Our nerves were on edge and we were
suspicious of everybody; trickery, deceit, traitor-work seemed to be in
the very air itself, and we made a resolve that we would shoot anybody,
man, woman or child, whom we saw loitering around our guns who had no
business there; that very day the O.C. had sworn that he would ask no
questions, but would shoot on sight. The woman's story was pitiful in
the extreme.
"Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do! My home is gone! My husband is
gone! My children are gone! And for what?"--wringing her hands and
gesticulating wildly. "For what, Messieurs? For being quiet,
inoffensive, loyal people!"
In my clumsy fashion I succeeded in somewhat calming the poor creature,
and she proceeded a little more coherently.
"Well, Messieurs, a man in Algerian uniform came to our house this
morning. He asked permission of my husband, who was a loyal Belgian, to
use our house--for what? To do spy work.
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