"I don't know what my instructions are going to be," he continued, dropping his voice a little, "but I'm sick of making war the way our chaps are doing it.

If ever I'm lucky enough to get one of those murderous submarines, I can promise you one thing--there'll be no survivors." For a moment or two they neither of them spoke.

From out of the windows of the house before which they were standing came the music of a popular waltz.

Olive turned a way with a little shiver.
"You think I'm brutal, dear," Conyers went on, as he patted her hand.
"Remember, I've seen men killed--that's what makes the difference, Olive.

Yes, I am different! We are all different, we who've tackled the job.