G. I know it's a mark, but I've never seen it before. It runs all up the
arm. What is it?
Capt. G. A cut--if you want to know.
Mrs. G. Want to know! Of course I do! I can't have my husband cut to pieces in
this way. How did it come? Was it an accident? Tell me, Pip.
Capt. G. (Grimly.) No. 'Twasn't an accident. I got it--from a man--in
Afghanistan.
Mrs. G. In action? Oh, Pip, and you never told me!
Capt. G. I'd forgotten all about it.
Mrs. G. Hold up your arm! What a horrid, ugly scar! Are you sure it doesn't
hurt now! How did the man give it you?
Capt. G. (Desperately looking at his watch.) With a knife. I came down--old Van
Loo did, that's to say--and fell on my leg, so I couldn't run. And then this
man came up and began chopping at me as I sprawled.
Mrs. G. Oh, don't, don't! That's enough!--Well, what happened?
Capt. G. I couldn't get to my holster, and Mafflin came round the corner and
stopped the performance.
Mrs. G. How? He's such a lazy man, I don't believe he did.
Capt. G. Don't you? I don't think the man had much doubt about it. Jack cut his
head off.
Mrs. G. Cut-his-head-off! "With one blow," as they say in the books?
Capt. G. I'm not sure. I was too interested in myself to know much about it.
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