THIRTY-ONE
Suddenly feeling like a piece of meat on a butcher’s slab.
Eleanor lay back against the side of her secret hollow, wanting more than ever to be able to fly away with the birds, or to let the river carry her away to where it would.
All this excited talk of war had disturbed her. Ever since the invasion of Belgium and the declaration of war against Germany, the only talk in the house had been of war, war and war, particularly by Nicholas and the twins. Even Edgar had become affected by the madness and had joined up, carried away by the collective madness that seemed to be sweeping the world away. She had always thought of him as being more solid than that, unlikely to be so impulsive.
The idea of war was abhorrently hateful to her and more and more often she came here, needing
