My hand is as light, my words of comfort are as welcome, among those suffering wretches" (she pointed to the room in which the wounded men were lying) "as if I was the most reputable woman breathing.

And if a stray shot comes my way before the war is over--well! Society will be rid of me on easy terms." She stood looking thoughtfully into the wreck of the fire--as if she saw in it the wreck of her own life.

Common humanity made it an act of necessity to say something to her.

Grace considered--advanced a step toward her--stopped--and took refuge in the most trivial of all the common phrases which one human being can address to another.
"If there is anything I can do for you--" she began.

The sentence, halting there, was never finished.