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The road wound up a narrow stony valley down which was flowing a muddy stream. The trees on our side of the river were still green, on the other bank they were bright orange, blood red and all the tints of a Serbian autumn. The road full of moving people was like another river, flowing only more sluggishly then the Ebar itself. For us in future, the autumn will always hold a sinister aspect.
At last the corporal gave up the quest for hay, and we were faced with the problem of spending the night on a narrow road bounded on one side by cliffs beneath which ran the Ebar, and on the other by an almost perpendicular bank. The night was black, the mud a foot deep, and a stream ran across the road.
"There are cases full of boots on the railway," said some one, consoling. "But those are men's boots," said another. Part of the morning we spent sitting on the banks of the Ebar River and watching the bridge, wondering if Ellis would come with his car. Ten times we thought we could see it, and each time were deceived. The French aeroplanes came in.
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