THIRTY-EIGHT
The Sergeant give him a quick hard look.
‘They rejected me,’ a still stunned Jack Garforth said to his wife, Mary. ‘They bloody well rejected me.’ Feeling as though it was the King himself who had told him he wasn't wanted, Jack stomped around the kitchen, an impotent anger brooding inside of him. He felt insulted, outraged, his very manhood had been found wanting. His King, and he glanced up at the portrait of King George and Queen Mary where it hung over the mantlepiece. His King had spat in his face. Rejected as not being good enough to fight at his side.
Mary commiserated with him, but inside she laughed and cheered, ecstatic that he had been turned down. He was too old anyway, and she did not want to lose him, not now, not ever. She could live with his bruised pride. H
