“We won the bloody war.” Crutches aside; Robert almost slips when he tries to sit.
“The Germans surrendered. Nobody won.” My veil and gloves are still on.
“What do you know of it, you old hag.” He’s taken to calling me that since he lost that leg.
“This hag can vote. Tomorrow I’m joining Mrs. Pankhurst.”
His hand strikes my face. I know he regrets it when we both listen to the angry hum of that soft, brown cloud.