The three women stared at each other, stricken.
"It's not true--it's not," gasped Rilla.
"The thing would be--ridiculous," said Gertrude Oliver--and then she
laughed horribly.
"Susan, who told you this--when did the news come?" asked Mrs. Blythe.
"I got it over the long-distance phone from Charlottetown half an hour
ago," said Susan. "The news came to town late last night. It was Dr.
Holland phoned it out and he said it was only too true. Since then I
have done nothing, Mrs. Dr. dear. I am very sorry dinner is not ready.
It is the first time I have been so remiss. If you will be patient I
will soon have something for you to eat. But I am afraid I let the
potatoes burn."
"Dinner! Nobody wants any dinner, Susan," said Mrs. Blythe wildly. "Oh,
this thing is unbelievable--it must be a nightmare."
"Paris is lost--France is lost--the war is lost," gasped Rilla, amid
the utter ruins of hope and confidence and belief.
"Oh God--Oh God," moaned Gertrude Oliver, walking about the room and
wringing her hands, "Oh--God!"
Nothing else--no other words--nothing but that age old plea--the old,
old cry of supreme agony and appeal, from the human heart whose every
human staff has failed it.
"Is God dead?" asked a startled little voice from the doorway of the
living-room. Jims stood there, flushed from sleep, his big brown eyes
filled with dread, "Oh Willa--oh, Willa, is God dead?"
Miss Oliver stopped walking and exclaiming, and stared at Jims, in whose
eyes tears of fright were beginning to gather.
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