National Affairs: End of the Road

The monsoon was coming and the jungle air was saturated with the all-pervading damp, and with a sense of disaster. On a winding, roller-coaster trail hurried a pitiful file of refugees, fleeing from destruction, despair and defeat. At the head of the line, setting the pace with a brisk 105 steps to the minute, trudged a slight, bespectacled old man wearing a World War I campaign hat. Malaria, cholera, the heat and exhaustion had plucked younger men from the line, but Uncle Joe, then 59, never faltered. He refused to ride one of the...

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