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Throughout the meal we refrained from any comment. Now that he had materialized, there was no reason, in the nature of things, why we should bother our heads any more about him. In the most natural way he had appeared and innocently demolished the photo-play romances we had constructed about him. It was a warning to us to avoid nonsense, in future, when discussing our neighbours.
Later in the day I noticed a lot of boys talking to a young Belgian girl. I had no opportunity to speak to her then, but after a time I found her alone, and with the little English Mademoiselle Marie B had picked up from British soldiers lately billeted there, and with the small amount of French I had stored away, we held quite a long conversation. Scene from the Photo-Play
Scene from the Photo-Play Before seeing the soldier I received several other letters, notably from Sam J. Peters, who came to see us, and was positive that he knew Peter as a man who had aided him on his being wounded himself.
She pursed her lips with a rueful resignation, and followed Gil to the spring behind the house. "Say, you mustn't hand out things like that, Jean!" he protested, when they were quite out of sight and hearing of the others. "Let me give you a tip, girl. If you've got any photo-play ideas that are worth talking about, don't go spreading them out like that for Bobby to pick and choose!"
Ration party is no pleasant job; as Tommy terms it, it is "one of the rottenest ever." Scene from the Photo-Play The two unhappy boys will crawl out as soon as it is dark. They reach the supply wagon, or it may be only a dump of goods. There they will find the quartermaster in charge, in all likelihood.
Business was good, factories were busy, and the theatres were crowded nightly, especially Keith's, where the latest military photo-play by Thomas Dixon and Charles T. Dazey with Mary Pickford as the heroine and Charley Chaplin as the comedy relief was enjoyed immensely by German officers.
As he identified this photo-play he studied the interior of the cabin, the rough table at which the three now ate, the makeshift chairs, the rifle over the fireplace, the picks and shovels, the shelf along the wall with its crude dishes, the calico curtain screening off what would be the dressing room of the little mountain flower. It was a home-like room, for all its roughness.
"'Ave yer b'ynet fixed?" he asked, by way of answer. "Bayonet fixed?" "Yes," said he, "'urry up! We're late." "Late?" I repeated. "For Gawd's syke," he exclaimed, "don't yer know as 'ow we are goin' hout? Goin' over to the German trenches goin' hout!" Scene from the Photo-Play I gulped. "Going to make a charge?" "No ... goin' HOUT ... listenin'-post."
Soon we began to realize that if we would put our shoulders to the wheel and work hard we would certainly see service overseas. Scene from the Photo-Play The enemy calls the Canadian a "Souvenir Hunter."
It was the war-cry of the Yellow Knives as they fired, and ran, and clambered up the ladders, The sights and sounds were clean-cut, distinct, intensely thrilling but impersonal, like the shifting scenes of a photo-play. She glanced about for MacNair. Her eyes travelled swiftly from face to swarthy face of the men who charged out of the timber.
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