"Stop it." Hana said. "He’ll survive."“The sapper who got blown up the other night, what was his name?” Caravaggio asked.“Sam Hardy.” Kip went to the window and looked out, leaving their conversation. “The trouble with all of us is we are where we shouldn’t be." Caravaggio said.

The armies indoctrinate you and leave you here and they fuck off somewhere else to cause trouble, inky-dinky parlez-vous. We should all move out together.” 

“We can’t leave the Englishman.” Hana said. The Englishman left months ago, Hana, he’s with the Bedouin or in some English garden. He doesn’t know where the fuck he is.“You think I’m angry at you, don’t you? Because you have fallen in love. Don’t you? A jealous uncle. I’m terrified for you. I want to kill the Englishman, because that is the only thing that will save you, get you out of here.

Desert your post. How can Kip love you if you are not smart enough to make him stop risking his life?” 

“Because. Because he believes in a civilised world. " Hana said, "He’s a civilised man.” “First mistake. The correct move is to get on a train, go and have babies together. Be irresponsible. Luck runs out.” Hana was pouring milk into her cup. As she finished she moved the lip of the jug over Kip’s hand and continued pouring the milk over his brown hand and up his arm to his elbow and then stopped. He didn’t move it away.