The slaughter of the first
encounters filled him with the conviction that he should put his house
in order before he entered that bloody arena out of which he might not
emerge.
So that when he crossed the Channel the first time he had disentangled
himself from his business at a great loss, in order to have all his
funds available for his wife in case of the ultimate disaster.
Myra accompanied him to England, deferred their separation to the last
hour. They could well afford that concession to their affection, they
told each other. It was so hard to part.
It scarcely seemed possible that four years had gone winging by since
then, yet in certain moods it seemed to Hollister as if an eternity
had passed. Things had been thus and so; they had become different by
agonizing processes.
He did not know where Myra was. He, himself, was here in Vancouver,
alone, a stranger, a single speck of human wreckage cast on a far
beach by the receding tides of war. He had no funds worth considering,
but money was not as yet an item of consideration.
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