“Scatter it in the road,” I said. “Or spill it into the river, whatever you wish. She was Smithers’ undoing. We owe her no courtesies.”
And then I thought of Helena, sweet, patient Helena. She had never understood the first thing about him, had she? And yet she had loved him. Poor, sweet Helena.
She must be protected now, I thought. The world is very strange, and too harsh, sometimes, and we must protect women like Helena from its mysteries. At least, from such mysteries as this one—not the mystery of that hidden valley, I mean, though that is mysterious enough, but the mysteries of the heart.
I drew a deep breath. “And—with regard to the Adjutant’s daughter, Brewster—”
“Yes?
“She will want to know how he died, I suppose. Tell her he died bravely, while in the midst of his greatest adventure in Her Majesty’s Service. But you ought not, I think, to tell her very much more than that. Do you understand me? He died bravely. That should suffice, Brewster. That should suffice.”
The Millennium Express: The Collected Stories of Robert Silverberg, Volume Nine Page 59