I could not see that she had any fear for herself.
After dinner she sat on the floor by my side and smoked cigarettes in great content.

She had done a hard day's work at the hospital; her husband had done a hard day's work--probably was still doing it--in Flanders.

Both deserved well of their country and their consciences.
She was giving a poor lonely paralytic, who had given his legs years ago to the aforesaid country, a delightful evening.

...

No, I'm quite sure such a patronising thought never entered my Betty's head.