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So exhausted were the men that the Battalion was relieved that night and taken to the neighbourhood of Le Rutoire Farm. Acquitting themselves with a noble fortitude, the stretcher bearers whose task was, perhaps, the worst of all remained and toiled all night in evacuating the trenches of the wounded.
The "Ninth" moved up by stages, marching via Lapugnoy and Verquin, to its battle position in trenches by Le Rutoire Farm, which it reached on the 24th.
Batteries in the open, under the crest near the Lens road, were in position so that the wind direction practically enfiladed them, sweeping along from the direction of Le Rutoire farm. Gas from German shell, borne on the wind, was continually enveloping the line of batteries, but they remained in action.
As I sat at the next table lazily watching pictures in the haze of tobacco smoke, their words conjured up the vision of that incomparable fighter who paid the great price a year ago, and now lies somewhere near Le Rutoire in the plains beyond Loos. For their talk was of a strange thing: the bayonet and the psychology of killing. . . .
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