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Tender took his life in his hands and visited the blonde girl. "I don't mean any harm," he pleaded, "please let me come in. . . . Can you understand this —can you believe this? Just for a little while, can't we forget this war? Just for a little while. Just for a little while, can't we talk together like people —together?" She looked at him for a long time and smiled. "You don't know who I am, do you?" she said. She was Alex Morden's widow, but she did not say so to Lieut. Tonder. She pitied him at last, stroked his hand, stroked his cheek. "God keep you," he said as he left. Then Molly Morden realized that her feeling of pity was an impermissible weakness that might lead to disaster. Others offered to kill the officer for her. She realized that, because she pitied him, she must kill him herself. The next time he rapped she looked down at the big-bladed shears that lay beside her knitting. She picked them up and held them like a knife. Then she hid them in her dress and blew out the lamp. Tonder rapped impatiently. "I'm coming, Lieutenant," she called as she groped her way in the dark, "I'm coming."