Man and Maid

February, 1918. I am sick of my life, The war has robbed it of all that a young man can find of joy. I look at my mutilated face before I replace the black patch over the left eye, and I realize that, with my crooked shoulder, and the leg gone from the right knee downwards, that no woman can feel emotion for me again in this world. So be it-I must be a philosopher.


Genre: Romance