Actually it sounds quit interesting. Well ok. Paris, France, 1919. I was 18 years old. Me father died 7 years ago on Titanic. He was going to America...to make a better life for us. My mother spent most of her time in her bedroom. She took his death hard. I was only 11 and don’t remember much about him. But watching my mother fall apart like that saddened me deeply. The only comfort I found was in a young man, a couple of years older than me. He moved here to France from England a few years ago.. "It's better than nothing," Martin suggested."Yes it is. Tell the Admiral thanks, but I'm still pissed." I said."I think he knows that. He said to tell you that it was nothing personal," Martin said."Oh, would that make us any less dead?" I asked."No, but I can see the need to have done it, but he really should have given us more credit." Martin suggested."Martin it's like we tell the bad guys, you are going to talk eventually, they all do. The admiral had to know that you would eventually. So. More

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