"Why have you come back ?" she asked.
He hesitated, keeping his eyes upon the ground.
"I don't suppose you will agree with me," he said.

"Somehow I felt I had to." A Conscientious Objector.

She might have guessed it.

A "Conchy," as they would call him in the Press: all the spiteful screamers who had never risked a scratch, themselves, denouncing him as a coward.

The local Dogberrys of the tribunals would fire off their little stock of gibes and platitudes upon him, propound with owlish solemnity the new Christianity, abuse him and condemn him, without listening to him.
Jeering mobs would follow him through the streets.