An invisible broth, the smell of perspiration and unwashed bodies and fresh blood, saturated the rooms. The surgeon and his assistants kept the library door closed—that was where they did awful things, that was where they had the tubs and dishpans, and where the yells came from.

… Northern soldiers as well, and strangely they smelled as did the rebels; they made the same sounds; their blood was the same color. Sometimes enemies would be side by side, and sometimes both of them would be conscious. Irene would come in and find them looking at each other, and they’d be talking. Delirious or not, agonized beyond all hope, the feverish sneers would be bubbling in their mouths. Hallo, Reb. Howdy. Yawl shore high-tailed it. Aw, just goin’ down the line to get a few friends and come back and whale the muss out of you. Where you got hit, Yank? Guess my spine—feels dead and froze, it don’t hurt, but I can’t move my legs, what—you—got? Down here … oh, that’s hard lines … could I have a drink, Miss? We hate to bother.

A voice railed from the corner. “You God damn white-livered rats!” it burst, all in one breath. “That’s all she’s good for, Yankee slut! She—” A man kicked out with his foot, and there was the sound of leather driven deep against a yielding body, the arrowy scream after a whole second of silence, the thrashing about, the gabble of the rest. Doctor Pell was at the door, several Doctor Pells with berry-juice hands and berry-juice all over their shirt bosoms. Madam, all the bearded doctors spoke together, I suggest that you stay in the kitchen: it’ll be better.

She sat in the steaming kitchen with her naked elbows on the table; once she slumped forward and the candle flame licked greedily toward her hair, and the sizzle of it burnt keenly through all other odors. The poor young Missis, Gretel wailed. Ach, and it is bad they make you to work so hard. A frail voice questioned slowly, Hard? They make me—work hard? No. Not at all. Go—on—with your—soup.

Muffled by library doors and other closed doors, a tortured animal continued his insufferable yelling. It sounded as if he were crying, “Ahoy!” over and over, very rapidly. Gretel began to hiccough; her soup ladle clattered on the floor and she went down to join it, shuddering with her blue apron up over her face, the petticoats bulging around her fat brown-cotton legs as she slid lower and lower on her haunches. “Missis,” she gasped, “and I feel it so sick inside!”