Yet even the war could not shake Mrs. Connolly's faith in the rightness
of things.
"I was glad to have our country get into it, and to have my sons go.
If they had stayed at home, I shouldn't have felt satisfied."
"Didn't it nearly break your heart?"
Mrs. Connolly, beating eggs for an omelette, shook her head. "Women's
hearts don't break over brave men, Miss Jean. It is the sons who are
weak and wayward who break their mothers' hearts--not the ones that go
to war."
She poured the omelette into a pan. "When I have a bad time missing
them, I remember how the Mother of God gave her blessed Son to the
world. And He set the example, to give ourselves to save others. No,
I don't want my boys back until the war is over."
Jean said nothing. She rocked back and forth and thought about what
Mary Connolly had said. One of the fat pussies jumped on her lap and
purred. It was all very peaceful, all as it had been since some other
cook made omelettes for the little aristocrat of an Irish grandmother
who would not under any circumstances have sat in the kitchen on terms
of familiarity with a dependent.
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