there was one soldier, a johnny reb. he'd been lying neglected on the battlefield from the night before. they brought him i io the surgeons' tent where i was. his right leg had gangrened. it was wounded. it had to come off. but they wouldn't touch him. they said that he was the enemy. union sosoiers first. "the enemy." since when do dying men have a nation? so i operated. and while i was doing my work, a big lout, who called himself a surgeon, tried to take the scalpel from me. he was drunk. as we struggled in that tent, the dying around us, my scalpel fell, and then i hit him in the face with hatred in my heart, and he fell ononhat scalpel. pierced his lungs and he died. and the johnny reb? that's the irony of this whololstory. you see, i tried to save a man who couldn't be saved. he'd lost too much blood. i killed one man for a man who was already dead. god punished me. a week later... thee doesn't seem shocked, deborah. oh, yes, i'm shocked. i'm shocked at the fact that i could be in love with a fool. you tried to sav