Rachel could feel the reverberations of it right down her spine. A bullet. “He shot himself?” “In ’20—or was it ’21?” John looked to Olivia for confirmation. “Cece found him. Horrible way to go.” “Horrible,” Rachel echoed. A horrible way to go and a horrible thing to see. She couldn’t begin to picture it. “Good heavens—why?” “He’d been gassed during the war. His nerves were gone. And this,” John said emphatically, “is why it is so crucial that we preserve peace at any cost. They say we were too young to understand what they went through in the trenches. But we have seen the cost of it, the toll in life and health, in industry and ambition.” It sounded like a portion of a speech. Perhaps it was. “If even small measures might be taken to prevent such a tragedy occurring again—” “Shots to the glands?” said Lady Olivia, and there was an edge to her voice that Rachel hadn’t heard before. John cast her a quick, reproachful look. “Among other measures.”
