But here she sat in the dark and Donal--where was Donal?
Where millions of men were marching, marching--only to kill each other--thinking of nothing but killing.
Donal too.

He must kill.

If he were a brave soldier he must only think of killing and not be afraid because at any moment he might be killed too.

She clutched her knees and shuddered, feeling her forehead grow damp.

Donal killing a man--perhaps a boy like himself--a boy who might have a dream of his own! How would his blue eyes look while he was killing a man?
Oh! No! No! No! Not Donal! With her forehead still damp and her hands damp also she found herself getting out of bed and walking up and down in the dark.