“Sir,” the woman leaned over the back of the bench where she sat. “Sir.”
The man on the bench behind her made an effort to ignore her.
“Sir,” she demanded.
Impatiently he looked up from his newspaper and turned toward her.
“Is the war actually over?” she asked.
“Yes, it is.”
“Thank God. Now my brother can come home.”
“Yes, we are all glad it is over. Now we can get back to more important things.”
He went back to his paper while she wondered what could be more important than the war. Her daughter tugged at her skirt.
“Yes, Marie?” she said, then lifted the child into her lap.