In the quiet following the bombardment, I have received a visit from Pomp and Slant, who have hitherto kept themselves away from the sickly end of the deck, sending as their envoys only looks of compassion and, in the hours of my waking, waves of the hand. They came now to my side, cloths wrapped about their faces to repel the contagion.

“Never thought it would be so slow,” said Pomp. “War. I did think hazard. And I did think blood. I think, ‘Boy, you going to have to show some bravery now.’ But I didn’t think just it would be this waiting. I didn’t think just listening. And all the sick.”

Slant could not speak for anxiety. He did not want to open his mouth near the ill, for fear something would leap in.