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The Camp Follower
We spoke, the camp-follower and I. About us was a cold, pungent odor- Gun-powder, stale wine, wet earth, and the smell of thou- sands of men. She said it reminded her of the scent In the house of prostitutes she had lived in. About us were soldiers-hordes of scarlet women, stupidly, smilingly giving up their bodies - To a putrid-lipped, chuckling lover-Death ; While their mistresses in tinsel] whipped them on. . . . She spoke of a woman she had known in Odessa. Owner of a huge band of girls, Who had pocketed their earnings for years, Only to be used, swindled and killed by some noble- man. . . . She said she thought of this grinning woman Whenever she saw an officer brought back from battle, dead. . . . And I sat beside her and wondered.