Chapter Eighteen
It was one of the less enjoyable meals of Nicholas’ experience. The food was good—almost as good as White’s—and the wine excellent, but Colonel Durham wasn’t the most pleasant of dining companions. His conversation consisted almost entirely of reminiscences about campaigns he had fought. In his minute and pedantic dissections of the errors of each battle, Colonel Durham never acknowledged any mistakes of his own—the blunders were always someone else’s.
Everyone makes mistakes, Nicholas thought as he chewed on buttered lobster. It’s part of what makes us human. He reached for his glass, swallowed a mouthful of wine, and looked sourly at the colonel. He’d had a commanding officer like Colonel Durham once. It had been an unpleasant experience. A good officer should acknowle
