(ooc: d'oh. END of the war for the last post, not middle of the war. Sheesh)
"Yes," he replied with a smile. "It is rather deep. I quite love it down there but, then again, it is my home. It's hard to not get nostalgic about something like that,"
And he did, often. He would remember Caroline, his children. Their plantation in the daylight, when rays of sunlight cut through the dense mist of the swamp. Why was he thinking about Caroline so often these days? Now that was twice in two weeks.
He gave up on trying to hail a cab that wasn't coming. Might as well wait for one.
"I'm sure you feel the same way about your own home, do you not? Manchester is probably very dear to you,"