Kitson looked at Fotherby as he handed back the bloodied cloth and rushed through the camp. All manner of thoughts flashed through Fotherby’s head as he rushed through the gathered men until he reached the group of four men that included Sergeant Simmons. He wasted no time in walking up to them where they sat on the floor, huddled around the fire and talking in hushed voices.
“Sergeant Simmons?” Fotherby began, so that the man rose to his feet. “God in heaven, why did you do it?”
“Do what, Henry?” he began as he moved over to the young captain. “You have blood on your hands, my boy. You are not hurt are you?”
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