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"You may," replied Jack: "I'll fight for you to the last gasp. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. Only the major won’t have it, and we’ve to bide by what the major says. She disengaged her hands and stood up. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved.
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