“See the man they are fitting into the bottom slot. He is coughing badly. No, not pneumonia. Not tuberculosis. Nothing so picturesque. Gently, gently, stretcher-bearers… he is about done. He is coughing up clots of pinky-green filth. Only his lungs,… — Helen Zenna Smith Copy Share Image
“Her soul died that night under a radiant silver moon in the spring of 1918 on the side of a blood-spattered trench. Around her… — Helen Zenna Smith Copy Share Image
“See the man they are fitting into the bottom slot. He is coughing badly. No, not pneumonia. Not tuberculosis. Nothing so picturesque. Gently, gently,… — Helen Zenna Smith Copy Share Image
