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Then in the night arose the train of visions; the trenches always the trenches; those hideous broken woods of the Somme front, where the blasted soil has sucked the best life-blood of England; those labyrinthine diggings and delvings in a tortured earth, made for the Huntings of Death 'Death that lays man at his length' for panting pursuit, and breathless flight, and the last crashing horror of the bomb, in some hell-darkness at the end of all: these haunted her.
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