It was plain that there were young soldiers who were straining at leashes, who were restless at being held back by the bindings of red tape, and who every hour were hearing things--true or untrue--which filled them with blind fury.

As days passed Robin heard some of these things--stories from Belgium--which caused her to stare straight before her, blanched with horror.

It was not only the slaughter and helplessness which pictured itself before her--it was stories half hinted at about girls like herself--girls who were trapped and overpowered--carried into lonely or dark places where no one could hear them.

Sometimes George and the Duchess forgot her because she was so quiet--people often forgot everything but their excitement and wrath--and every one who came in to talk, because the house had become a centre of activities, was full of new panics or defiances or rumours of happenings or possibilities.
The maelstrom had caught Robin herself in its whirling.

She realised that she had changed with the rest.