Valour has always been rewarded by beauty.
And then her great sense of responsibility, her conscientiousness about
Bruce--no wonder that had been undermined by his own weak conduct. How
could Edith help feeling a slight contempt for a husband who not only
wouldn't take any chances while he was still within the age, but
positively imagined himself ill. True, Bruce had always been a _malade
imaginaire_; like many others with the same weakness, his
valetudinarianism had been terribly increased by the anxiety and worry
of the war. But there was not much sympathy about for it just now. While
so much real suffering was going on, imaginary ills were ignored,
despised or forgotten.
Bruce hated the war; but he didn't hate it for the sake of other people
so much as for his own. The interest that the world took in it
positively bored him--absurd as it seems to say so, Edith was convinced
that he was positively jealous of the general interest in it! He had
great fear of losing his money, a great terror of Zeppelins; he gave way
to his nerves instead of trying to control them. Edith knew his greatest
wish would have been, had it been possible, to get right away from
everything and go and live in Spain or America, or somewhere where he
could hear no more about the war.
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