"We signed the armistice two years ago," Peggy says, a wistful and sad look in her eyes as she thinks of all the blood and loss that had been spilled in order to achieve a few paltry signatures on a page. "It was our second World War, though, in both the Pacific and the European theatre." Death and maelstroms of human suffering the likes of which she can't even begin to explain. She doesn't like to think about what she'd done in her time in the war, but takes solace that everyone else had experienced something similar. She presses her lips into a thin line and tries to think how to move on.

"We should find shelter," she says, insistent on moving away from the topic.