tomake
his
third
attempt
.
He
asked
his
way
to
the
townhall
and
in
a
species
of
dull
resignation
stood
waiting
his
turn
for
the
ordeal
of
medical
inspection
.
When
it
came
he
went
listlessly
through
the
now
familiar
process
,
stripped
,
was
weighed
and
measured
,
was
pummelled
,
showed
his
teeth
,
answered
questions
.
It
was
the
stethoscope
that
had
done
the
business
yesterday
,
and
would
do
it
again
to-day
;
not
that
there
was
anything
the
matter
with
him
or
his
heart
—
it
was
just
the
blind
cruel
stupidity
that
was
always
and
in
everything
against
him
...
.
While
the
doctor
bent
to
listen
he
was
wondering
what
he
should
do
with
to-morrow
,
what
he
should
do
with
the
next
day
,
what
he
should
do
with
his
life
!
He
had
made
so
sure
of
a
third
rejection
that
he
could
hardly
believe
his
ears
when
he
heard
he
was
up
to
the
physical
standard
required
of
a
soldier
of
the
King
.
"
You
've
made
a
mistake
,
"
was
on
the
tip
of
his
tongue
,
and
though
he
checked
the
words
before
they
were
uttered
,
he
stood
dazed
and
staring
,
much
as
he
had
done
on
the
day
he
was
first
refused
.
He
could
not
remember
clearly
what
happened
to
him
next
or
what
he
did
;
he
went
where
he
was
told
,
he
sat
and
waited
,
he
repeated
words
which
he
knew
must
have
been
the
oath
;
his
fellows
talked
to
him
and
he
answered
back
...
but
all
he
was
conscious
of
was
the
stunning
fact
of
his
acceptance
.
It
seemed
to
him
Griselda
must
know
and
rejoice
—
and
he
had
thoughts
of
her
watching
him
,
of
her
white
soul
blessing
him
to
victory
.
CHAPTER
XVII
A
pencilled
scrawl
despatched
from
a
mushroom
camp
in
the
Home
Counties
told
Edith
Haynes
that
William
was
at
last
a
soldier
;
it
was
brief
,
written
shakily
by
a
man
tired
in
body
but
uplifted
in
spirit
,
informed
her
that
he
had
just
been
absorbed
into
a
London
battalion
,
that
he
had
not
yet
got
his
uniform
,
was
sleeping
in
a
barn
and
drilling
hard
and
concluded
with
the
words
"
Thank
God
!
"
She
answered
the
scrawl
by
return
of
post
and
a
few
weeks
later
,
hearing
nothing
,
wrote
again
;
but
,
in
spite
of
her
request
for
further
news
,
for
month
after
month
she
waited
in
vain
for
a
successor
to
the
shaky
scribble
.
When
it
came
the
war
had
been
in
progress
a
couple
of
years
and
the
address
was
a
procession
of
letters
—
whereof
the
three
last
were
the
B.E.F.
that
denoted
service
over-Channel
.
It
was
a
restrained
and
correct
little
letter
,
on
the
face
of
it
uninteresting
and
not
much
longer
than
the
last
,
but
differing
from
it
in
that
it
was
written
in
ink
and
in
the
tidy
,
clerical
hand
which
William
had
acquired
in
the
days
of
his
boyhood
for
the
use
of
the
insurance
office
.
It
expressed
regret
for
his
lengthy
silence
,
but
did
not
attempt
to
explain
it
;
and
went
on
to
relate
that
before
coming
to
France
he
had
been
an
orderly-room
clerk
,
that
he
was
at
present
at
an
advanced
base
—
he
must
not
of
course
give
its
name
—
where
he
was
employed
in
office
work
,
principally
the
typewriting
of
letters
.
It
concluded
with
an
assurance
that
he
had
not
forgotten
her
kindness
and
a
hope
she
would
write
to
him
again
...
and
she
read
and
re-read
the
polite
little
missive
,
half-guessing
what
lay
between
its
lines
.
It
had
been
written
in
an
interval
of
that
typing
of
local
official
communications
which
was
Private
Tully
's
daily
contribution
to
the
waging
of
the
European
War
;
and
it
had
not
been
written
earlier
because
Private
Tully
was
too
sullen
of
heart
to
write
.
For
a
few
weeks
only
he
had
known
what
it
was
to
be
a
soldier
of
England
in
the
making
;
he
had
drilled
,
he
had
marched
,
he
had
learned
to
hold
a
rifle
and
his
body
had
ached
with
the
discipline
.
He
had
lain
down
at
night
so
weary
that
he
could
not
sleep
,
and
he
had
risen
giddily
in
the
morning
in
fear
of
the
day
that
was
coming
.
Other
men
filled
out
and
hardened
with
their
training
,
grew
healthy
,
muscular
and
brown
—
and
he
set
his
teeth
and
argued
with
himself
that
this
stage
of
sick
exhaustion
was
only
a
stage
and
in
time
he
would
be
even
as
they
.
What
he
lacked
in
strength
he
made
up
in
fiery
willingness
,
overtaxing
his
energy
by
dogged
efforts
to
keep
level
with
broader
shouldered
,
tighter
muscled
men
,
and
steadfastly
refusing
to
admit
that
his
bodily
misery
was
more
than
a
passing
discomfort
.
More
than
once
a
good-natured
comrade
suggested
a
visit
to
the
doctor
—
whereat
William
would
flush
as
at
an
insult
and
turn
on
the
meddler
almost
savagely
.
He
held
on
longer
than
he
could
have
done
unaided
,
by
virtue
of
much
kindly
help
.
Once
,
in
a
sudden
need
for
sympathy
he
had
told
to
one
of
his
fellows
the
story
of
Griselda
and
his
own
conversion
to
militarism
;
and
,
unknown
to
himself
,
the
story
went
the
round
of
his
mess
.
From
the
beginning
the
men
had
treated
him
with
the
instinctive
kindness
that
the
stronger
feels
for
the
weakling
,
but
from
that
time
forth
their
kindness
was
more
than
instinctive
;
they
ranged
themselves
tacitly
on
the
weakling
's
side
in
his
struggle
with
his
own
deficiencies
.
Little
odd
jobs
of
cleaning
and
furbishing
were
done
for
him
—
often
secretly
,
he
knew
not
by
whom
—
and
no
man
was
ever
too
weary
to
take
on
work
that
would
spare
him
.
They
were
in
a
conspiracy
to
save
him
from
blunders
—
to
warn
him
or
shield
him
from
consequences
,
and
as
far
as
camp
life
permitted
they
coddled
him
,
with
something
of
the
sweet
roughness
wherewith
Nelson
was
coddled
by
his
captains
.
All
the
same
,
and
in
spite
of
coddling
,
the
breakdown
came
as
it
was
bound
to
do
in
the
end
;
the
doctor
who
refused
had
been
wiser
than
the
man
who
passed
him
.
There
was
nothing
urgently
or
seriously
wrong
with
his
health
;
but
he
was
not
made
soundly
enough
to
stand
the
violent
and
sudden
change
from
a
sedentary
life
to
a
life
of
unceasing
exertion
.
He
had
never
taken
much
out-of-door
exercise
;
had
always
trained
or
'
bussed
it
rather
than
travel
afoot
;
and
of
late
his
days
had
been
spent
entirely
between
the
four
walls
of
his
Camden
Town
sitting-room
.
It
was
on
the
homeward
stretch
of
a
route
march
that
his
strength
failed
him
suddenly
and
he
knew
that
he
could
do
no
more
;
his
pack
was
a
mountain
,
his
body
was
an
ache
,
and
a
blackness
closed
upon
his
eyes
.
He
fought
very
gallantly
to
save
himself
and
,
by
the
dogged
effort
of
his
will
,
kept
going
for
a
few
minutes
more
.
"
I
can
do
ten
steps
,
"
he
told
himself
and
counted
each
step
as
he
took
it
;
then
,
the
first
ten
accomplished
,
"
Now
I
can
do
ten
more
.
"
So
he
kept
going
for
a
few
yards
more
and
dragged
foot
after
foot
till
he
had
reached
the
tale
of
two
hundred
;
at
which
point
—
twenty
tens
—
he
staggered
,
fell
out
of
the
ranks
in
a
faint
and
was
brought
back
to
camp
on
a
stretcher
.
That
was
the
end
of
his
soldiering
with
pack
and
rifle
;
from
the
day
of
his
breakdown
on
the
route
march
his
platoon
knew
him
no
more
and
when
he
came
out
of
hospital
,
some
three
weeks
later
,
he
was
put
on
to
clerical
duties
.
As
orderly-room
clerk
he
handled
a
typewriter
instead
of
a
bayonet
,
and
handled
it
steadily
as
the
months
lengthened
into
years
.
Others
,
his
contemporaries
,
completed
their
training
,
left
the
camp
,
and
went
off
to
the
front
;
he
remained
,
at
first
savagely
resentful
and
later
sullenly
resigned
.
His
conception
of
soldiering
,
derived
as
it
was
from
his
own
brief
and
fiery
experience
in
Belgium
,
from
the
descriptive
articles
of
war
correspondents
and
his
reading
of
bygone
campaigns
,
had
never
included
the
soldier
who
was
merely
a
clerk
.
He
had
never
realized
that
a
man
in
uniform
was
not
necessarily
a
man
of
blood
;
the
revelation
came
to
him
only
when
he
copied
letters
and
routine
orders
,
filed
papers
and
,
for
all
practical
purposes
,
was
back
at
his
desk
in
the
insurance
office
.
His
daily
duties
mocked
and
derided
the
hopes
and
ambitions
wherewith
he
had
joined
the
Army
;
and
,
ticking
at
his
typewriter
,
he
contrasted
,
half-ashamedly
,
the
blank
reality
with
the
strenuous
and
highly
coloured
dream
.
One
phase
of
that
dream
—
inspiring
then
,
ridiculous
now
—
had
shown
him
to
himself
as
the
hero
of
some
bloody
enterprise
and
the
central
figure
of
such
a
scene
as
he
had
read
of
in
Napoleonic
history
;
a
scene
of
be-medalling
and
public
praise
in
token
of
duty
bravely
done
.
He
had
pictured
it
often
,
awake
and
asleep
...
and
fancied
Griselda
looking
down
.
Slowly
,
under
the
benumbing
influence
of
office
routine
,
his
revengeful
ambitions
faded
,
and
with
them
his
half-acknowledged
hope
of
emulating
Murat
and
Augereau
.
His
interest
in
the
war
had
been
fundamentally
a
personal
interest
,
and
though
there
had
grown
up
in
him
,
by
force
of
circumstance
,
a
tardy
consciousness
of
his
Englishry
,
it
was
hardly
strong
enough
to
inspire
him
with
pride
in
a
humble
and
wearisome
duty
done
in
the
name
of
England
.
Be
it
said
in
excuse
for
him
that
few
men
could
feel
pride
in
the
labour
of
dealing
with
daily
official
communications
—
the
duty
of
copying
out
vain
repetitions
and
assisting
in
the
waste
of
good
paper
.
The
stilted
uselessness
of
half
the
documents
was
evident
even
to
William
;
and
there
were
moments
when
he
told
himself
,
in
savage
discontent
,
that
he
would
have
been
less
unprofitable
in
civilian
idleness
than
busied
in
promoting
futility
.
For
a
time
he
was
jolted
out
of
his
rut
by
his
transfer
to
France
in
the
August
of
1916.
He
was
drafted
out
,
at
a
few
hours
'
notice
,
with
a
batch
of
men
destined
for
clerical
duties
,
and
found
himself
planted
in
a
small
French
town
round
which
camps
were
spreading
in
a
fringe
of
tent
and
hutment
,
and
where
house
after
house
was
being
rapidly
annexed
for
the
service
of
the
British
Army
.
But
,
save
for
change
of
scene
and
country
,
the
new
rut
into
which
he
had
been
jolted
was
twin
to
his
old
rut
in
England
.
It
was
the
same
clerk
's
life
—
this
time
in
the
office
of
a
military
department
—
but
with
longer
and
more
irregular
hours
than
fall
to
the
lot
of
the
ordinary
civilian
clerk
,
and
with
restrictions
on
personal
freedom
unknown
since
his
days
in
the
City
.
The
Army
kept
him
as
tightly
as
his
strait-laced
mother
;
demanded
as
regular
hours
and
refused
,
as
steadfastly
as
she
had
done
,
to
let
him
wander
o
'
nights
.
He
filed
,
he
copied
,
he
ate
his
rations
—
and
from
the
beaten
track
of
his
everyday
life
,
the
war
seemed
very
far
away
.
Sometimes
in
his
off-hours
,
afternoon
or
evening
,
he
would
tramp
up
the
hills
that
held
the
little
town
as
in
a
cup
to
a
point
where
,
looking
eastward
,
he
could
see
the
sudden
flashes
of
the
guns
.
The
bright
,
fierce
flashes
in
the
evening
sky
were
war
,
real
war
made
visible
and
wickedly
beautiful
;
such
war
as
he
had
seen
in
the
Ardennes
village
,
and
such
as
he
had
dreamed
of
fighting
when
he
first
donned
his
khaki
tunic
.
And
instead
a
chair
and
a
typewriter
in
the
Rue
Ernest
Dupont
,
the
papers
to
be
filed
that
a
girl
might
have
filed
,
the
round
of
safe
and
disciplined
monotony
.
That
was
war
as
he
knew
it
:
an
office
with
flashes
in
the
distance
.
For
a
few
days
after
his
arrival
in
France
his
new
surroundings
interested
him
—
the
cobbled
roads
,
the
build
of
the
houses
,
the
sound
of
French
in
the
streets
;
but
once
their
strangeness
had
worn
off
he
accepted
and
ceased
to
notice
them
.
He
was
not
sufficiently
educated
,
sufficiently
imaginative
or
observant
,
to
take
at
anything
beyond
their
face-value
the
various
and
incongruous
types
of
humanity
with
which
he
was
brought
into
contact
.
The
strange
life
of
Northern
France
affected
him
only
where
it
touched
him
personally
,
and
to
him
the
sight
of
a
turbaned
brown
trooper
bargaining
in
the
market-place
with
a
swift-spoken
,
bare-headed
Frenchwoman
was
an
oddity
and
nothing
more
;
just
as
the
flamboyant
façade
of
the
great
church
of
St.
Nicholas
was
an
oddity
,
a
building
unlike
,
in
its
mass
and
its
detail
of
statuary
,
to
the
churches
he
knew
of
in
London
.
He
came
across
many
such
oddities
—
and
having
no
meaning
for
him
,
they
made
but
a
passing
impression
.
After
a
week
or
two
he
no
longer
turned
his
head
at
the
sight
of
a
gang
of
Annamite
labourers
or
the
passing
of
a
detachment
of
heavy-booted
German
prisoners
marched
campwards
at
the
end
of
their
day
;
these
things
,
like
the
ambulances
crawling
in
a
convoy
from
the
station
,
like
the
shuttered
French
houses
built
squarely
round
courtyards
,
became
part
of
the
background
of
his
daily
life
and
he
ceased
to
wonder
or
reflect
on
them
.
Perhaps
his
contact
with
alien
races
,
with
strange
buildings
and
habits
once
unknown
,
may
have
increased
his
vague
sense
of
the
impossibility
of
fitting
all
men
to
one
pattern
,
and
of
solving
the
problems
of
human
misgovernment
and
government
by
means
of
the
simple
and
sweeping
expedients
he
had
once
been
so
glib
in
upholding
;
but
on
the
whole
it
left
him
unaffected
because
little
interested
.
His
course
of
Free
Library
reading
had
placed
him
in
possession
of
certain
scattered
facts
concerning
France
,
facts
dealing
chiefly
with
the
First
Napoleon
and
the
German
War
of
1870
;
but
for
all
the
hot
interest
they
had
stirred
in
him
once
,
they
gave
him
small
insight
into
the
forces
that
had
gone
to
the
making
of
the
country
in
which
his
life
was
spent
wearily
.
He
was
lacking
entirely
in
the
historical
sense
,
the
sense
that
makes
dead
men
alive
;
thus
,
in
connection
with
the
doings
of
present-day
Frenchmen
,
his
odds
and
ends
of
historical
reading
had
little
more
meaning
to
him
than
the
Late
Gothic
carving
on
the
ornate
portal
of
St.
Nicholas
.
The
phase
of
warfare
with
which
France
familiarized
him
was
not
only
secure
and
uneventful
;
as
far
as
the
native
was
concerned
it
was
likewise
prosperous
.
The
town
where
he
plodded
through
his
daily
toil
was
blessed
as
never
before
in
the
matter
of
trade
and
turnover
;
commercially
it
blossomed
and
bore
good
fruit
in
the
deadly
shade
of
the
upas
tree
.
The
camps
and
the
offices
meant
custom
to
its
citizens
,
and
,
whatever
the
toll
in
the
blood
of
its
sons
,
it
gained
in
its
pocket
by
the
war
.
The
Germans
,
in
1914
,
had
threatened
but
barely
entered
it
;
it
had
neither
damage
to
repair
nor
extorted
indemnity
to
recoup
,
and
money
flowed
freely
to
the
palms
of
its
inhabitants
from
the
pockets
of
the
British
soldier
.
Its
neighbours
,
a
few
miles
away
,
lay
in
hopeless
ruin
,
their
industries
annihilated
,
their
inhabitants
scattered
,
their
very
outlines
untraceable
—
beaten
to
death
by
that
same
chance
of
war
which
had
spared
the
city
in
the
cup
of
the
hills
and
exalted
her
financial
horn
.
Here
were
neither
misery
nor
shell-holes
;
the
local
shopkeeper
was
solidly
content
,
the
local
innkeeper
banked
cheerfully
and
often
,
the
local
farmer
sold
his
produce
to
advantage
and
the
volume
of
trade
in
the
district
expanded
and
burst
new
channels
.
Eating-houses
broke
out
into
English
announcements
concerning
eggs
,
fried
potatoes
,
and
vegetables
;
English
newspapers
were
plentiful
as
French
in
the
shops
and
small
boys
cried
them
in
the
streets
;
and
when
the
weekly
market
gathered
in
the
shadow
of
St.
Nicholas
,
to
the
stalls
for
hardware
,
fruit
and
cheap
finery
were
added
the
stalls
that
did
a
roaring
business
in
"
souvenirs
"
for
the
English
markets
.
His
days
were
steadfastly
regular
and
steadfastly
monotonous
.
Each
morning
by
half-past
eight
he
was
seated
in
the
office
in
the
Rue
Ernest
Dupont
;
in
a
roomy
house
,
most
provincially
French
,
built
round
a
paved
courtyard
and
entered
from
the
street
by
an
archway
.
A
projecting
board
at
the
side
of
the
archway
bore
the
accumulation
of
letters
which
denoted
the
department
by
which
the
house
had
been
annexed
,
and
on
the
door
of
the
room
where
William
laboured
was
the
legend
"
Letters
and
Enquiries
.
"
At
half-past
twelve
he
knocked
off
for
dinner
and
was
his
own
master
till
three
;
then
the
office
again
till
supper
and
after
supper
—
with
good
luck
till
ten
,
with
bad
luck
indefinite
overtime
.
On
Sundays
he
was
his
own
master
for
the
space
of
an
afternoon
,
and
now
and
again
there
were
parades
and
now
and
again
the
"
late
pass
"
that
entitled
to
an
evening
at
liberty
.
When
he
first
arrived
he
was
fed
and
roofed
in
one
of
the
camps
on
the
borders
of
the
little
city
;
later
,
with
half-a-dozen
fellows
,
he
slept
and
messed
in
the
upper
rooms
of
the
building
in
which
he
did
his
daily
work
...
.
It
was
a
life
of
bleak
order
and
meticulous
,
safe
regularity
,
poles
apart
from
his
civilian
forecast
of
the
doings
of
a
man
of
war
.
There
was
small
thrill
of
personal
danger
about
its
soldiering
;
the
little
city
at
the
"
Front
"
was
far
less
exposed
to
the
malice
of
enemies
than
London
or
the
East
Coast
of
England
:
and
almost
the
only
indication
of
possible
peril
was
the
occasional
printed
notice
displayed
in
a
citizen
's
window
to
the
effect
that
within
was
a
cellar
"
at
the
disposition
of
the
public
in
case
of
alarm
"
—
from
aircraft
.
Once
or
twice
during
the
first
year
that
William
dwelt
there
the
anti-aircraft
section
grew
clamorous
on
its
hills
and
spat
loudly
at
specks
in
the
blue
—
which
,
after
a
few
minutes
,
receded
to
the
east
while
the
city
settled
down
without
injury
.
The
men
in
the
town
and
quartered
in
the
camps
outside
it
were
for
the
most
part
office-workers
,
men
of
the
A.S.C.
,
of
Labour
companies
or
Veterinary
service
;
to
whom
the
monotony
of
daily
existence
was
a
deadlier
foe
than
the
German
.
His
life
had
been
unusually
clean
;
partly
,
no
doubt
,
from
inclination
to
cleanliness
,
but
partly
through
influence
of
circumstance
.
While
his
mother
lived
he
had
small
opportunity
for
dissipation
even
of
the
mildest
variety
;
and
hard
on
her
death
had
come
the
great
new
interests
which
his
friendship
with
Faraday
opened
to
him
.
Those
interests
had
been
so
engrossing
that
he
had
little
energy
to
spare
from
them
;
all
his
hopes
and
pleasures
were
bound
up
in
his
"
causes
,
"
and
the
very
violence
of
his
political
enthusiasms
had
saved
him
from
physical
temptation
.
Thus
he
had
come
to
Griselda
heart-whole
and
sound
,
and
,
even
when
his
causes
and
his
wife
were
lost
,
the
habit
of
years
still
clung
to
him
and
the
follies
that
came
easily
to
others
would
have
needed
an
effort
in
him
.
Once
or
twice
,
in
the
soddenness
of
his
discontent
,
he
was
tempted
to
turn
to
the
gross
pleasures
of
drink
and
worse
in
which
others
found
distraction
from
their
dullness
;
but
the
temptation
was
never
an
urgent
one
and
there
was
no
great
merit
in
his
resistance
.
One
night
he
overdrank
himself
in
a
deliberate
attempt
at
forgetfulness
—
whereupon
he
was
violently
sick
,
crawled
to
bed
throbbing
with
headache
,
and
did
not
repeat
the
experience
.
He
felt
himself
drifting
mentally
,
and
,
to
his
credit
,
made
efforts
to
save
himself
;
tried
to
awaken
an
interest
in
the
French
language
,
bought
a
dictionary
and
phrase-book
and
attended
bi-weekly
classes
in
a
neighbouring
Y.M.C.A.
hut
.
He
spent
a
certain
amount
of
his
leisure
in
the
Y.M.C.A.
hut
;
borrowing
books
from
its
library
,
listening
to
its
concerts
,
and
now
and
again
making
one
at
a
game
of
draughts
.
He
made
no
real
friends
—
probably
because
he
was
not
in
the
mood
for
making
any
;
with
his
comrades
of
the
office
he
got
on
well
enough
,
but
there
was
no
such
tie
between
him
and
them
as
had
existed
between
him
and
the
men
of
his
mess
in
the
days
when
he
first
donned
his
uniform
.
The
hope
deferred
that
had
sickened
his
heart
had
driven
him
in
upon
himself
;
then
his
desk-work
was
obviously
well
within
his
powers
and
outwardly
there
was
nothing
about
him
to
call
for
special
sympathy
and
kindliness
.
His
fellows
mostly
looked
on
him
as
a
harmless
,
uncompanionable
chap
who
preferred
to
be
left
to
himself
.
By
degrees
William
Tully
was
moulded
to
the
narrow
little
life
departmental
and
lived
through
its
duties
and
hours
of
leisure
taking
not
much
thought
for
the
morrow
;
in
the
Rue
Ernest
Dupont
the
war
seemed
much
smaller
,
much
farther
away
,
than
it
had
seemed
at
home
in
England
,
and
,
absorbed
in
its
minor
machinery
,
he
could
no
longer
consider
it
as
a
whole
.
The
office
and
the
daily
details
of
the
office
,
the
companions
he
worked
with
,
disliked
and
liked
,
loomed
larger
in
his
eyes
than
the
crash
of
armies
or
the
doings
of
men
at
the
front
.
As
a
civilian
he
had
wrestled
with
strategy
and
pored
over
maps
;
as
a
soldier
of
England
he
could
not
see
the
wood
for
the
trees
.
And
if
he
did
not
fall
mentally
to
the
level
of
that
species
of
surgeon
to
whom
war
is
an
agency
for
the
provision
of
interesting
cases
,
it
was
merely
because
,
unlike
the
surgeon
,
he
had
little
enthusiasm
for
his
work
.
Inevitably
,
with
the
passing
of
month
after
month
,
the
memory
of
Griselda
grew
less
poignant
;
and
with
the
soothing
of
his
sense
of
loss
there
came
about
,
also
inevitably
,
a
cooling
of
his
fury
for
instant
and
personal
revenge
.
He
had
not
forgiven
and
would
never
forget
,
but
he
no
longer
agonized
at
his
helplessness
to
strike
a
blow
;
in
part
,
perhaps
,
because
the
discipline
under
which
he
lived
had
weakened
his
power
of
initiative
.
Though
he
chafed
under
discipline
he
learned
to
depend
on
it
and
became
accustomed
to
the
daily
ordering
of
his
life
;
and
his
early
training
in
the
insurance
office
stood
him
in
good
stead
,
so
that
he
performed
his
duties
with
the
necessary
efficiency
and
smartness
...
.
What
remained
with
him
,
long
after
the
memory
of
his
dead
wife
had
ceased
to
be
an
ever-present
wound
,
was
the
sense
of
having
been
fooled
by
he
knew
not
whom
,
of
having
been
trapped
and
held
by
false
pretences
.
The
fact
that
his
grievance
was
vague
did
not
lessen
its
bitterness
;
it
lay
too
deep
for
the
grousing
that
he
heard
from
others
,
and
for
the
most
he
nursed
it
in
silence
,
the
silence
of
smouldering
rebellion
.
There
were
moments
when
his
face
must
have
been
more
communicative
than
his
tongue
;
for
one
Sunday
,
an
early
spring
Sunday
as
he
sat
on
a
hill
above
the
town
and
stared
vaguely
at
the
skyline
,
a
man
addressed
him
with
,
"
Are
you
feeling
like
that
,
mate
?
"
and
squatted
on
the
grass
beside
him
:
a
lean
young
man
with
a
worn
brown
face
—
deeply
lined
on
the
forehead
and
with
eyes
,
like
a
sailor
's
,
accustomed
to
looking
at
distances
.
"
I
'm
like
it
myself
,
"
he
went
on
without
waiting
for
an
answer
,
and
stretched
himself
out
on
to
his
elbow
.
"
These
last
few
days
it
's
been
almost
beyond
holding
in
;
it
's
the
spring
,
I
suppose
,
the
good
road
weather
and
the
sun
.
I
do
n't
mind
it
so
much
when
there
's
mud
and
the
country
does
n't
grin
at
you
;
I
can
stand
it
well
enough
then
.
"
Lying
stretched
on
his
elbow
he
began
to
talk
about
himself
.
He
was
English-born
and
he
had
begun
his
career
at
a
desk
—
staying
there
just
long
enough
to
save
up
his
fare
and
a
few
pounds
to
start
him
in
Canada
.
After
that
came
a
farm
—
to
his
thinking
but
a
shade
less
narrow
than
the
office
;
to
be
left
for
the
rolling
,
the
shifting
life
,
the
only
life
worth
living
.
He
had
had
his
ups
,
he
had
had
his
downs
—
but
always
with
his
eyes
on
the
distance
.
Ten
fine
years
of
it
,
American
,
African
,
Australian
;
the
life
independent
where
you
shouldered
your
pack
and
gave
men
the
go-by
when
you
were
sick
of
them
.
And
then
,
in
the
summer
of
1914
,
a
fancy
to
see
the
Old
Country
.
He
had
worked
his
passage
homeward
in
a
short-handed
tramp
and
arrived
at
Tilbury
on
the
day
the
Kaiser
's
government
sent
its
ultimatum
to
Russia
.
Four
days
later
he
was
a
soldier
in
the
British
Army
,
and
a
year
or
so
later
had
a
knee-cap
damaged
and
a
shoulder
put
out
of
action
.
They
had
patched
him
up
carefully
,
made
quite
a
decent
job
of
him
,
and
he
walked
and
moved
his
left
arm
with
comfort
;
but
,
adjudged
unfit
for
the
fighting
line
,
he
had
done
with
the
trenches
for
good
.
Permanent
base
now
,
with
a
cushy
job
at
the
office
of
the
D.D.
of
Works
.
Filing
and
copying
documents
relating
to
hut
construction
;
he
had
been
fool
enough
to
let
out
that
he
had
had
some
small
training
as
a
clerk
.
"
In
a
way
,
"
he
said
,
chewing
at
a
long
blade
of
grass
,
"
it
's
a
good
thing
I
've
got
my
stiff
knee
.
If
I
could
put
the
miles
under
me
as
I
used
to
,
I
believe
—
I
believe
I
'd
go
.
It
would
come
over
me
and
I
'd
go
.
Not
that
I
want
to
desert
,
but
it
might
be
too
strong
for
me
;
I
've
always
been
my
own
master
and
I
've
always
wanted
to
know
what
was
on
the
other
side
of
the
hill
.
Straight
on
"
—
he
pointed
southward
—
"
straight
on
,
anywhere
.
The
road
—
if
you
've
once
tramped
it
"
...
He
broke
off
and
stared
with
his
eyes
on
the
distance
and
beyond
it
.
After
a
minute
or
two
of
silence
he
asked
William
suddenly
what
had
made
him
join
the
Army
;
and
William
gave
him
confidence
for
confidence
,
attracted
he
knew
not
why
.
The
man
's
craving
for
loneliness
and
bodily
exertion
was
something
he
could
not
understand
;
but
they
were
on
common
ground
in
their
mutual
rebellion
against
the
weariness
of
daily
life
.
They
talked
with
long
silences
in
between
their
speech
,
telling
out
their
hearts
to
each
other
;
or
rather
finding
in
each
other
's
presence
an
excuse
for
speaking
their
hearts
.
Later
it
seemed
odd
to
William
that
though
they
spoke
freely
of
their
lives
and
their
griefs
it
had
never
struck
either
of
them
to
ask
of
the
other
his
name
.
"
So
you
joined
up
because
of
your
wife
,
"
said
the
man
who
lay
on
his
elbow
.
"
Yes
,
"
William
answered
him
,
"
I
thought
—
—
"
He
did
not
finish
the
sentence
;
it
wearied
him
now
to
remember
what
he
had
thought
.
"
Sometimes
,
"
the
other
broke
the
silence
,
"
I
ask
myself
why
I
joined
up
.
Do
n't
see
how
it
could
have
been
patriotism
;
England
had
n't
been
anything
to
me
for
years
.
My
sister
died
soon
after
I
left
it
and
I
had
n't
any
one
else
.
So
far
as
I
can
make
out
it
never
was
much
to
me
;
I
was
always
unhappy
in
England
,
hated
school
and
office
and
towns
—
I
lived
in
a
town
.
Never
knew
what
life
could
be
till
I
got
away
from
it
.
Say
the
Germans
had
won
and
dominated
the
earth
!
They
would
n't
have
dominated
my
earth
.
I
could
always
have
made
myself
a
camp-fire
where
they
would
n't
have
wanted
to
follow
me
.
If
they
'd
sacked
London
and
swallowed
up
New
York
I
could
have
lain
out
under
the
stars
at
night
and
laughed
at
'
em
.
So
what
made
me
?
...
Some
say
man
's
a
fighting
animal
.
"
He
pulled
a
fresh
grass-blade
to
chew
and
rolled
over
on
his
chest
till
his
chin
rested
on
his
hands
.
"
I
knew
I
should
hate
soldiering
—
I
made
no
mistake
about
that
.
The
regularity
—
shipboard
's
too
regular
for
me
.
I
've
tried
it
more
than
once
for
the
sake
of
getting
somewhere
,
and
before
the
voyage
was
half
over
I
'd
always
had
more
than
enough
.
I
knew
I
should
hate
it
,
but
I
joined
up
straight
and
away
...
.
I
've
lost
everything
that
made
life
good
to
me
.
Other
chaps
—
blind
chaps
and
crippled
—
might
think
I
'd
got
off
easily
.
So
I
have
,
I
daresay
;
but
then
it
is
n't
every
one
whose
life
was
in
moving
on
.
Often
when
I
was
alone
I
've
shouted
and
laughed
just
to
feel
how
my
legs
moved
under
me
...
.
It
's
the
devil
—
this
compound
—
but
even
if
I
were
out
of
it
,
I
'm
a
lame
thing
.
When
the
war
ends
I
'm
a
lame
thing
.
Not
what
most
people
would
call
crippled
,
of
course
;
I
can
walk
a
few
miles
and
feed
myself
,
and
to
look
at
me
you
would
n't
know
there
was
anything
at
all
the
matter
.
If
I
were
a
townsman
it
would
n't
make
very
much
difference
;
if
I
'd
stayed
a
clerk
I
could
go
on
being
a
clerk
.
But
I
ca
n't
be
...
what
I
was
.
I
've
lost
everything
that
made
life
good
to
me
.
What
for
?
"
I
ca
n't
remember
exactly
the
feeling
I
had
about
it
when
I
enlisted
—
what
made
me
do
it
.
So
many
things
have
happened
since
then
.
But
I
know
I
did
n't
think
about
it
long
;
so
far
as
I
remember
I
did
n't
hesitate
,
not
for
a
minute
.
I
went
straight
off
the
morning
after
war
was
declared
.
Midnight
,
fourth
,
we
were
at
war
,
and
midday
,
fifth
,
I
was
a
soldier
.
Must
have
been
some
sort
of
instinct
...
.
Sometimes
I
tell
myself
what
a
blazing
fool
I
am
.
"
That
's
sometimes
.
Other
times
—
—
"
He
was
silent
for
so
long
that
William
concluded
the
flow
of
his
confidence
had
ceased
.
"
When
you
live
in
a
crowd
,
"
he
said
at
last
,
"
you
can
always
make
excuses
for
yourself
.
Most
likely
you
do
n't
need
to
.
If
you
're
a
fool
or
a
coward
you
herd
with
a
lot
of
other
fools
and
cowards
,
and
you
all
back
each
other
up
.
So
you
never
come
face
to
face
with
yourself
.
"
The
idea
was
new
to
William
,
and
a
year
or
two
ago
he
would
have
repelled
it
because
it
was
new
;
now
he
turned
his
eyes
from
the
horizon
,
curiously
,
to
the
lean
brown
face
at
his
elbow
.
"
No
?
"
he
said
interrogatively
.
"
If
,
"
said
the
other
,
"
if
I
had
gone
back
...
it
would
n't
have
been
the
same
.
It
could
n't
have
been
...
.
If
you
live
that
way
there
's
two
things
you
ca
n't
do
without
:
a
good
strong
body
to
stand
rain
and
wind
and
work
,
and
a
mind
you
're
not
afraid
to
be
alone
with
.
When
you
're
miles
from
any
one
,
in
the
woods
at
night
,
you
want
to
be
good
company
for
yourself
.
If
I
'd
turned
my
back
on
it
all
,
I
might
n't
have
been
very
good
company
.
I
've
done
plenty
of
things
to
set
the
parsons
praying
over
me
if
I
told
'
em
;
I
've
been
a
fool
times
out
of
mind
and
ashamed
of
it
afterwards
;
but
—
—
"
He
slid
into
a
silence
that
lasted
until
William
took
up
the
word
;
not
in
answer
or
argument
but
irrelevantly
,
so
that
he
,
too
,
might
talk
out
his
heart
.
"
Do
you
know
what
I
think
I
am
sometimes
?
a
rat
in
a
trap
—
or
a
squirrel
spinning
round
in
a
cage
.
Very
busy
doing
nothing
...
.
I
'll
tell
you
one
of
the
things
I
've
been
doing
lately
—
every
word
of
it
truth
.
I
've
been
typing
a
long
correspondence
about
a
civilian
—
a
worker
in
one
of
the
religious
organizations
who
came
into
the
town
,
ten
miles
by
train
,
to
get
stores
he
wanted
for
his
hut
.
The
rule
is
,
civilians
must
n't
travel
by
train
without
a
movement
order
from
the
A.P.M.
;
there
is
n't
an
A.P.M.
in
the
place
he
comes
from
,
so
he
went
to
the
military
and
got
an
ordre
de
service
.
He
came
all
right
,
but
it
's
irregular
—
an
ordre
de
service
should
only
be
given
to
a
soldier
.
One
of
the
M.P.
's
on
duty
at
the
station
reported
it
—
and
there
's
been
strafing
and
strafing
and
strafing
.
Reams
written
about
it
—
I
've
written
'
em
.
Not
only
about
the
ordre
de
service
but
about
who
the
correspondence
is
to
go
through
—
the
A.P.M.
's
office
or
the
Base
Commandant
or
some
one
else
.
After
three
or
four
weeks
it
was
referred
to
G.H.Q.
and
some
one
there
wrote
to
the
secretary
of
the
organization
asking
for
an
explanation
—
and
naturally
he
answered
the
letter
.
Well
,
that
was
irregular
too
;
he
ought
n't
to
have
answered
because
the
matter
should
have
been
dealt
with
locally
—
'
gone
through
the
proper
channels
.
'
So
more
correspondence
and
strafing
...
.
Sheets
of
paper
—
reams
of
it
—
and
they
say
it
's
scarce
!
And
in
the
end
,
nothing
—
just
nothing
.
When
the
wretched
people
wrote
and
asked
exactly
what
they
were
to
do
—
how
they
were
to
get
a
movement
order
from
an
A.P.M.
when
there
was
n't
an
A.P.M.
to
give
it
,
we
wrote
back
and
said
,
'
This
correspondence
must
now
cease
.
'
I
ticked
it
out
on
my
typewriter
.
"
"
I
believe
you
,
"
the
other
nodded
,
"
I
've
seen
something
of
that
sort
myself
...
.
And
the
papers
say
,
'
Your
country
wants
you
'
!
"
"
And
it
goes
on
,
"
said
William
,
"
day
after
day
.
I
'm
always
busy
—
about
nothing
.
'
Attention
is
directed
to
G.R.O.
9999.
The
Return
called
for
in
the
form
shown
as
the
third
appendix
—
—
'
"
"
Good
Lord
,
"
cried
the
other
,
"
stop
it
.
That
's
just
what
maddens
me
—
I
do
n't
want
to
think
of
it
.
"
William
laughed
sullenly
with
his
chin
resting
on
his
hand
.
"
I
've
not
much
else
to
think
of
,
"
he
said
.
He
watched
the
lean
man
down
the
hill
till
a
winding
of
the
road
hid
him
;
and
then
he
too
rose
,
in
his
turn
,
and
went
back
to
the
town
—
to
the
rat-trap
wherein
he
made
war
!
CHAPTER
XVIII
The
war
was
well
past
its
third
anniversary
when
William
again
met
Edith
Haynes
.
The
silence
once
broken
between
them
they
had
corresponded
with
a
fair
regularity
,
and
,
leave
being
due
to
him
,
he
wrote
to
ask
if
he
should
be
likely
to
meet
her
in
London
;
receiving
in
answer
a
hearty
invitation
to
pass
as
much
of
his
leave
as
he
could
spare
—
the
whole
of
it
if
he
would
—
with
her
mother
and
herself
in
Somerset
.
The
reply
was
an
eager
acceptance
;
hitherto
his
leave
,
if
a
respite
from
the
office
,
had
been
dreary
enough
in
comparison
with
the
home-comings
of
other
men
—
it
was
a
suspicion
of
the
loneliness
in
which
it
was
usually
passed
that
had
prompted
Edith
's
invitation
.
She
met
him
at
the
station
and
drove
him
home
,
and
they
picked
up
their
odd
friendship
at
the
point
where
they
had
left
it
off
.
The
only
other
member
of
the
family
with
whom
he
made
acquaintance
was
a
delicate
,
pale
mother
,
given
,
since
her
firstborn
was
killed
at
Thiepval
,
to
long
silences
and
lonely
brooding
;
a
younger
son
had
been
a
prisoner
since
the
surrender
at
Kut
,
and
Edith
ran
her
mother
as
well
as
the
house
and
the
estate
.
She
looked
older
,
and
by
more
than
the
passing
of
three
years
;
the
iron
of
war
had
entered
into
her
soul
,
for
the
brother
killed
in
France
had
been
her
darling
as
well
as
her
mother
's
;
but
in
other
ways
she
was
just
what
William
remembered
her
,
a
kindly
and
capable
good
comrade
.
The
delicate
,
pale
mother
kept
much
to
her
room
,
and
the
pair
,
in
consequence
,
were
left
often
to
each
other
's
company
—
sometimes
tramping
the
home
farm
with
Edith
bent
on
bailiff
's
duties
,
sometimes
sitting
by
the
evening
fire
.
For
the
first
day
or
two
he
was
not
communicative
—
engrossed
,
perhaps
,
in
mere
pleasure
in
his
new
surroundings
;
but
even
through
the
stiffness
and
restraint
of
his
letters
she
had
guessed
at
something
of
the
change
that
had
come
over
him
,
and
when
he
showed
signs
of
emerging
from
his
shell
she
took
pains
,
on
her
side
,
to
draw
him
out
and
discover
his
attitude
of
mind
.
By
degrees
,
from
his
silences
as
much
as
from
his
speech
,
she
learned
of
the
weariness
that
had
settled
like
a
mist
on
his
soul
,
the
aimlessness
with
which
he
plodded
the
pathway
of
his
disciplined
life
.
She
knew
him
for
a
man
disillusioned
,
in
whom
the
imaginings
of
his
pre-soldier
days
had
died
as
completely
as
his
faith
in
his
pre-war
creed
.
Had
the
lot
fallen
to
him
he
would
not
have
shrunk
from
his
turn
in
the
trenches
,
and
at
the
bottom
of
his
heart
,
for
Griselda
's
sake
,
there
was
always
a
smoulder
of
hatred
;
but
he
had
seen
much
of
the
war
machine
,
had
realized
keenly
his
own
unimportance
therein
,
and
he
blushed
when
he
remembered
that
he
had
once
imagined
that
his
one
small
arm
and
his
private
vengeance
might
be
factors
,
and
important
factors
,
in
the
downfall
of
the
German
Empire
.
And
the
first
mad
impulse
of
agony
,
the
impulse
which
would
have
sent
him
into
battle
single-handed
,
had
passed
as
it
was
bound
to
pass
.
If
she
suspected
him
at
first
of
a
drift
towards
his
former
"
pacifism
"
she
soon
discovered
her
mistake
;
the
one
rock
on
which
he
stood
fast
was
that
conviction
of
error
which
had
come
to
him
in
the
Forest
of
Arden
.
He
hated
the
war
as
it
affected
himself
,
was
weary
of
the
war
in
general
;
all
he
longed
for
was
its
ending
,
which
meant
his
release
from
imprisonment
;
but
neither
hatred
nor
weariness
had
blinded
his
eyes
to
the
folly
of
that
other
blindness
which
had
denied
that
war
could
be
.
His
contempt
for
his
past
dreams
of
a
field-marshal
's
baton
was
as
nothing
to
his
contempt
for
those
further
past
dreams
wherein
fact
was
dispelled
by
a
theory
;
and
he
had
,
in
his
own
words
,
"
no
use
for
"
a
pacifist
party
which
had
never
,
as
he
had
,
made
confession
of
its
fundamental
error
.
He
was
still
in
his
heart
a
soldier
,
even
though
a
soldier
disillusioned
;
his
weariness
of
the
military
machine
,
his
personal
grievance
against
it
,
were
not
to
be
compared
to
the
fiery
conversion
that
had
followed
on
the
outbreak
of
war
.
The
one
concerned
matters
of
detail
only
;
the
other
his
fundamental
faith
...
.
So
much
Edith
Haynes
understood
from
their
intimate
fragmentary
talks
.
One
change
in
himself
he
had
not
noticed
till
Edith
,
half
jestingly
,
spoke
of
it
:
an
affection
that
was
almost
a
tenderness
for
the
actual
soil
of
England
.
More
than
once
when
he
walked
with
her
he
contrasted
the
road
or
the
landscape
with
those
grown
familiar
in
France
;
and
the
contrast
was
always
in
favour
of
the
Somerset
hills
or
the
winding
Somerset
highway
.
Without
ties
as
he
was
,
without
household
,
without
family
,
she
saw
that
he
shrank
from
the
idea
of
again
leaving
"
home
.
"
"
What
shall
you
do
when
the
war
is
over
?
"
she
asked
him
one
evening
as
his
leave
neared
its
end
,
curious
to
know
how
he
had
planned
to
spend
his
arrested
life
.
So
far
he
had
spoken
of
no
future
beyond
the
end
of
the
war
itself
;
and
when
she
put
to
him
the
question
direct
he
only
shook
his
head
vaguely
.
"
I
do
n't
know
.
It
may
seem
odd
to
you
,
but
I
have
n't
thought
much
about
it
.
In
fact
"
—
he
smiled
apologetically
—
"
I
do
n't
believe
I
've
really
thought
at
all
.
"
"
No
,
I
do
n't
think
it
odd
,
"
she
told
him
.
"
There
are
a
good
many
like
you
—
I
'm
inclined
to
think
that
you
're
only
one
of
the
majority
.
People
whose
business
it
is
to
reorganize
industry
—
I
suppose
they
're
thinking
ahead
.
One
prays
they
are
.
But
as
for
the
rest
of
us
...
it
's
difficult
to
think
ahead
because
of
the
way
it
has
broken
up
our
lives
and
our
plans
.
We
've
got
used
to
its
breaking
them
up
.
"
"
That
's
it
,
"
he
nodded
back
.
"
We
've
been
made
to
do
things
for
so
long
.
Taken
and
made
to
do
them
...
.
Some
have
been
taken
and
killed
and
some
have
been
taken
and
crushed
—
and
some
have
only
been
made
prisoners
,
like
me
.
But
we
've
all
of
us
been
taken
—
and
bent
and
twisted
into
things
we
never
meant
to
be
...
.
So
we
do
n't
plan
—
what
's
the
use
?
...
I
might
of
course
—
I
'm
not
like
the
men
in
the
trenches
who
may
be
killed
any
minute
.
I
'm
safe
enough
where
I
am
—
safer
than
in
London
;
but
all
the
same
I
do
n't
...
.
I
just
wait
to
see
what
happens
.
"
For
a
week
before
William
left
England
there
had
been
expectation
of
coming
developments
at
the
front
,
and
the
papers
had
spoken
of
"
considerable
aerial
activity
,
"
on
the
enemy
's
side
as
on
ours
.
The
developments
commenced
in
earnest
on
the
day
of
his
return
from
leave
;
but
his
first
personal
experience
of
the
increase
in
aerial
activity
was
not
for
a
few
days
later
,
when
,
as
he
was
passing
through
the
square
in
the
centre
of
the
town
,
a
gun
thudded
out
—
and
then
another
.
He
stopped
and
made
one
of
a
little
knot
of
khaki
that
was
staring
up
into
the
blue
,
and
whereof
one
of
the
component
parts
was
a
corporal
who
worked
in
his
office
.
He
himself
could
see
nothing
but
a
drift
or
two
of
smoke
,
but
he
gathered
from
the
sharper-sighted
corporal
that
there
were
two
Fritz
planes
overhead
,
and
he
stood
cricking
his
neck
and
blinking
upwards
in
the
strong
sunlight
while
passers-by
made
groups
on
the
pavement
and
shopkeepers
issued
from
their
doors
.
He
had
seen
the
same
thing
happen
before
and
quite
harmlessly
;
no
one
around
him
seemed
alarmed
or
disturbed
,
and
in
a
few
minutes
the
guns
ceased
firing
as
the
aeroplanes
passed
out
of
range
.
"
Photographing
,
"
said
the
corporal
,
as
they
walked
away
to
the
office
.
"
He
's
been
over
quite
a
lot
the
last
week
or
two
,
and
some
time
or
other
I
suppose
we
shall
have
him
in
earnest
.
It
's
a
wonder
to
me
he
's
left
us
alone
so
long
;
it
'
ud
be
worth
his
while
coming
even
if
he
did
n't
do
more
than
drop
a
bomb
or
two
on
the
A.H.T.D.
,
and
start
a
few
hundred
horses
.
"
"
Yes
,
"
agreed
William
,
"
I
suppose
it
would
.
"
He
was
not
in
the
least
alarmed
as
he
settled
down
to
his
files
;
since
he
joined
the
Army
he
had
never
been
exposed
to
danger
,
and
security
had
become
with
him
a
habit
.
That
night
there
was
a
heavy
post
,
and
the
office
was
kept
working
late
;
it
was
close
on
eleven
when
William
was
called
upstairs
to
take
down
some
letters
from
dictation
.
The
officer
who
had
sent
for
him
was
clearing
his
throat
for
the
first
sentence
when
the
door
opened
for
the
announcement
,
"
Local
aircraft
alarm
,
sir
.
"
"
Oh
,
all
right
,
"
said
the
officer
resignedly
.
"
Go
downstairs
,
Tully
,
and
come
up
again
when
the
lights
go
on
.
Probably
only
a
false
alarm
—
we
had
two
the
other
night
.
Just
the
sort
of
thing
that
would
happen
when
we
're
behindhand
.
"
He
went
out
grumbling
,
and
William
followed
him
,
feeling
his
way
by
the
banisters
,
for
the
electric
light
was
turned
off
while
he
was
still
on
the
upper
landing
;
other
men
from
all
over
the
warren
of
a
building
were
descending
likewise
,
and
they
bumped
and
jostled
each
other
in
the
sudden
darkness
on
the
stairs
.
There
were
jests
as
they
bumped
and
much
creaking
of
boots
—
through
which
,
while
William
was
still
a
flight
from
the
ground
floor
,
came
the
first
rapid
thudding
of
"
Archie
.
"
On
it
,
a
moment
later
,
an
unmistakable
bomb
and
the
pattering
outburst
of
machine-guns
...
.
William
listened
curiously
;
it
was
his
first
experience
of
an
air
raid
,
and
though
the
pace
of
his
heart
quickened
,
as
yet
there
was
no
real
fear
in
him
;
but
a
man
pressed
against
him
by
the
descending
stream
gasped
audibly
and
clawed
round
William
's
arm
with
his
fingers
.
The
action
was
fear
made
manifest
in
darkness
,
and
William
,
instinctively
knowing
it
infectious
,
repelled
it
and
strove
to
free
his
wrist
;
but
the
shaking
fingers
,
eloquent
of
terror
,
only
clung
more
tightly
to
their
hold
.
"
What
is
it
?
"
William
snapped
.
"
What
's
the
matter
?
"
"
It
's
me
—
Wright
,
"
a
voice
whispered
back
in
jerks
.
"
I
ca
n't
help
it
—
the
Lord
knows
I
try
,
but
I
ca
n't
.
If
it
was
shells
I
could
stand
'
em
,
but
—
—
"
A
near-by
gun
beat
down
his
voice
but
did
not
stop
it
—
"
at
Dunkirk
.
I
was
buried
two
hours
:
two
mortal
hours
before
they
got
me
out
—
and
when
I
was
in
hospital
he
came
over
and
bombed
us
again
.
He
got
one
right
on
to
us
,
and
I
was
blown
out
of
bed
,
and
the
men
at
the
other
end
of
the
ward
were
in
pieces
.
In
pieces
,
I
tell
you
—
beastly
bits
of
flesh
—
—
"
William
tried
to
stand
it
—
realizing
that
the
man
must
cling
and
gibber
to
some
one
as
a
child
clings
and
wails
to
its
nurse
.
They
had
turned
into
a
room
on
the
ground
floor
—
there
were
no
cellars
,
but
it
was
esteemed
the
safest
place
in
the
building
by
reason
of
the
comparative
absence
of
glass
—
and
the
pair
of
them
stood
backs
against
the
wall
.
When
Wright
stopped
talking
—
which
was
not
often
—
William
could
hear
his
breath
as
it
came
whining
through
his
teeth
;
and
he
remembered
that
the
man
wore
the
ribbon
of
the
D.C.M.
—
a
man
who
had
once
had
nerve
and
to
all
appearance
was
sound
,
but
who
had
not
sufficient
hold
on
himself
to
keep
his
terror
from
his
tongue
.
He
spoke
of
it
unceasingly
;
whenever
the
sounds
without
died
down
William
could
hear
him
whispering
—
now
of
the
night
when
he
was
bombed
in
hospital
and
now
of
the
building
they
were
in
.
It
was
no
good
as
a
shelter
—
would
crumble
like
a
house
of
cards
.
Nothing
was
any
good
but
a
cellar
or
trenches
—
there
should
have
been
trenches
.
And
they
were
so
damnably
close
to
the
station
,
and
the
station
was
just
what
those
devils
were
trying
to
hit
.
There
came
a
moment
when
William
could
bear
it
no
more
,
and
wrenched
himself
free
of
the
clawing
fingers
on
his
sleeve
;
he
dared
not
feel
them
longer
,
lest
his
heart
also
melted
within
him
.
His
nervousness
took
the
form
of
a
difficulty
in
keeping
still
,
and
he
fidgeted
about
the
darkened
room
;
but
the
room
was
fairly
full
,
and
he
could
not
move
far
—
after
a
step
or
two
this
way
and
a
step
or
two
that
,
he
was
brought
up
by
a
solid
group
that
stretched
from
the
wall
to
a
table
.
He
came
to
a
standstill
on
the
edge
of
the
group
and
tried
to
listen
to
their
talk
;
forced
himself
to
listen
to
it
—
and
all
the
time
straining
his
ears
through
the
murmur
for
the
droning
of
the
Gotha
engines
.
He
fought
with
himself
and
fought
more
manfully
than
he
knew
;
striving
to
thrust
out
of
his
mind
Wright
's
phrase
about
the
"
beastly
bits
of
flesh
,
"
and
to
fasten
his
hearing
,
to
the
exclusion
of
all
else
,
on
the
voice
of
a
man
,
his
neighbour
in
the
darkness
,
who
had
lately
seen
a
German
aeroplane
brought
down
,
and
,
having
apparently
some
mechanical
knowledge
,
was
describing
its
points
and
its
engines
.
They
,
the
engines
,
were
first-rate
,
he
said
,
waxing
technical
;
but
even
if
he
had
not
been
told
it
,
he
should
have
guessed
from
the
fittings
of
the
plane
that
Jerry
was
getting
a
bit
scarce
in
his
stock
of
rubber
and
leather
.
What
he
was
using
—
—
Here
the
windows
rattled
loudly
and
drowned
him
.
"
That
's
pretty
close
,
"
some
one
commented
,
and
William
moved
a
restless
step
away
.
Once
it
had
seemed
to
him
an
easy
thing
to
follow
Griselda
and
die
;
now
all
the
moral
strength
he
possessed
went
into
the
effort
not
to
shrink
,
to
be
master
of
his
body
,
to
behave
decently
and
endure
.
That
was
all
that
seemed
to
matter
—
to
be
steady
and
behave
decently
—
so
that
,
for
all
his
fear
of
instant
death
,
he
never
turned
his
thoughts
to
God
...
.
He
had
not
known
how
beautiful
silence
could
be
till
it
came
almost
suddenly
,
like
a
flood
of
clear
,
cool
water
;
when
some
one
,
muttering
that
it
seemed
to
be
over
,
opened
the
door
and
went
out
into
the
courtyard
,
he
followed
and
stood
there
feeling
the
silence
as
something
clean
,
exquisite
and
grateful
.
His
hands
were
wet
and
hot
,
and
he
stretched
them
out
to
the
air
;
if
he
had
not
prayed
when
he
was
under
the
spell
of
fear
,
his
heart
,
at
his
release
from
it
,
was
filled
with
something
like
praise
.
"
Listen
,
"
said
a
voice
in
his
ear
.
It
was
Wright
,
his
face
uplifted
in
the
moonlight
and
disfigured
by
ugly
twitchings
.
"
Listen
,
"
he
said
,
"
they
're
coming
back
.
"
...
William
shrank
from
him
irritably
,
but
the
man
had
not
spoken
particularly
to
him
,
and
,
having
spoken
,
turned
swiftly
and
went
back
into
the
house
.
He
had
been
the
first
to
catch
the
double-noted
drone
which
as
they
stood
and
listened
grew
nearer
.
"
That
's
him
,
sure
enough
,
"
another
voice
agreed
.
"
Coming
up
in
relays
.
He
'll
be
out
to
make
a
night
of
it
—
I
thought
we
'd
got
rid
of
him
too
quickly
.
"
A
searchlight
wheeled
and
the
anti-aircraft
spoke
on
the
word
;
some
one
cried
,
"
Got
'
im
,
"
and
pointed
,
and
for
an
instant
William
had
sight
of
a
wicked
thing
caught
in
the
ray
and
rushing
upwards
.
Battery
and
machine-gun
gave
tongue
at
the
sight
,
but
in
a
flash
the
climbing
devil
had
vanished
and
the
searchlight
wheeled
after
it
fruitlessly
.
As
they
stood
and
watched
it
wheeling
,
a
voice
called
,
"
Come
in
,
men
,
"
and
they
went
back
perforce
within
their
walls
.
The
first
attack
had
lasted
not
much
over
half
an
hour
;
this
time
the
ordeal
by
darkness
and
waiting
was
longer
.
William
held
himself
tightly
,
ashamed
of
the
weakness
with
which
Wright
had
infected
him
and
keeping
it
doggedly
at
bay
;
he
talked
when
he
could
think
of
anything
to
talk
about
—
odd
irrelevant
fragments
of
whatever
came
into
his
head
,
anything
to
keep
himself
from
listening
.
At
one
time
he
made
a
conscious
and
determined
effort
to
turn
his
talk
and
his
mind
with
it
to
something
unconnected
with
air-raids
;
but
always
his
speech
,
like
that
of
his
companions
,
came
back
to
the
thought
of
the
moment
.
"
Do
you
remember
,
"
he
asked
a
man
beside
him
,
"
what
a
fuss
there
was
about
the
first
Channel
flight
?
I
forget
the
fellow
's
name
—
a
Frenchman
?
"
Some
one
supplied
the
name
,
"
Bleriot
,
"
out
of
the
darkness
.
"
Yes
,
Bleriot
—
that
's
it
...
.
Queer
when
you
think
of
it
.
Nobody
had
any
idea
then
what
it
would
mean
—
getting
into
cellars
and
hiding
in
the
dark
.
If
they
had
"
—
he
forced
an
attempt
at
a
laugh
—
"
they
would
n't
have
been
so
pleased
.
"
"
No
,
"
his
neighbour
agreed
with
him
jocularly
;
"
they
would
n't
have
been
so
pleased
.
We
thought
we
was
all
going
to
flap
about
like
birds
—
and
instead
the
most
of
us
go
scuttling
into
holes
like
beetles
what
the
cook
's
trying
to
stamp
on
.
That
's
flying
—
for
them
as
do
n't
fly
.
"
"
Yes
,
"
said
William
,
"
that
's
flying
.
"
The
beetle
simile
caught
his
fancy
oddly
,
and
he
found
himself
contrasting
it
with
his
old
idea
of
a
soldier
.
After
all
,
the
beetle-warrior
was
a
new
development
—
it
was
impossible
to
think
of
Napoleonic
heroes
as
beetles
.
Yet
if
they
were
alive
they
would
have
to
scuttle
too
—
even
Murat
the
magnificent
,
and
Ney
,
the
Red
Lion
...
"
When
the
next
war
comes
,
"
his
jocular
neighbour
was
continuing
,
"
every
man
that
ai
n't
in
the
R.F.C.
'
ull
be
crawling
at
the
bottom
of
a
coal-mine
.
And
I
do
n't
mind
mentioning
in
confidence
that
if
I
saw
a
coal-mine
'
andy
I
would
n't
mind
crawling
down
it
now
.
"
"
No
,
"
said
William
,
for
the
sake
of
speaking
,
"
I
do
n't
