Until she felt his grasp grow tight, and then she turned and their eyes met.
"You'll be the last of the name," he said.

"Something tells me that.

I'm glad you're a fighter.

I always prayed my child might be a fighter." Arthur had not been home since the beginning of the war.

Twice he had written them to expect him, but the little fleet of mine sweepers had been hard pressed, and on both occasions his leave had been stopped at the last moment.