Don't give us all that sorrow to carry to our graves " But Varney had pulled his arms free and was clutching wildly at his head-bandages with heavily swathed fingers. "You needn't worry about me," he said in a sharp anguished voice. "Great Scott! What's what's wrong with my head! It's killing me."
The slightly wounded were drawn up in double ranks, their clean white arm- and head-bandages gleaming in the noonday light. They stood dazed and dejected, looking on at the real work which was just beginning the removal of the severely wounded. Then it was that I learned the use of those mammoth furniture vans.