their glasses, the two walked past the dancers until they reached a small table at which they sat. This apparent gentility from a man who was known, not only in the regiment but to the whole army, as a bitter recluse confused the major who sat silently. He watched as Peters poured some of the contents of his hip flask into his glass of punch before he offered it to Major Tenterchilt who graciously accepted.

“Strawberries and whisky,” Peters said softly. “Two of the only things the Scots are good for.”

“Have you been often in Scotland?”

“No,” the surgeon replied flatly. “It is a dismal country and, for all my life, I cannot understand why we fought so hard to keep it.”

“I live here.”

“I know.” Peters turned to wa...

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