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Updated: May 31, 2025
When I had spoiled the second postcard, Eliza said I was not to talk like that. "Very well, then," I said, "why don't you have the ink-pot refilled? I'm not made of postcards, and I hate waste." She replied that anybody would think I was made of something to hear me talk. I thought I had never heard a poorer retort, and told her so.
We went home and chopped up the tombstone with the wood-axe and had a blazing big bonfire, and cheered till we could hardly speak. The postcard was a mistake; he was only missing. There was a pipe and a whole pound of tobacco left over from our keepsake to the other soldiers. We gave it to Bill. Father is going to have him for under-gardener when his wounds get well.
Flanders had left her sewing on the table. There were her large reels of white cotton and her steel spectacles; her needle-case; her brown wool wound round an old postcard. There were the bulrushes and the Strand magazines; and the linoleum sandy from the boys' boots. A daddy-long- legs shot from corner to corner and hit the lamp globe.
Instead of tearing it up, as she had always done the letters Major Guthrie had written to her in the old days that now seemed so very long ago, she slipped that curious war postcard inside the envelope in which were placed his bank-notes. August 23, 1914! A date which will be imprinted on the heart, and on the tablets of memory, of every Englishman and Englishwoman of our generation.
When I entered the pew they looked rather strange, and as soon as the service was over I asked them what was the matter. 'Don't be alarmed, they said, 'there is nothing serious. They then handed me a postcard from my husband, which simply said, 'House burned out; covered by insurance. The date was the day on which my dream occurred.
They mention nothing of the blistered necks and sunburned noses from which the skin is already peeling. Begbie Lyte, with a shameless disregard for the truth, buys a postcard of a typical bunch of troops passing up that very same road, and selecting a figure well concealed by dust, marks an X over it, and inscribing "This is me" on the reverse side addresses it to the colonel's daughter.
It happened that three of these unfortunate victims had been found on my doorstep. I felt very angry with the old lady, who blamed me for the destruction of her pets, adducing the fact that they were found dying on my doorsteps as proof conclusive. One morning I received an anonymous postcard. Although it bore the Charing Cross postmark, I felt sure it came from the old lady.
You could not get away from hearing of him wherever you were; his portrait was on every other postcard; his maps and battles in every other illustrated paper; songs in his honour in every other music-hall turn or on every other barrel-organ. His fame, though probably more temporary, was ten times more wide, popular and spontaneous than the other man's.
She's to spend the winter in South Carolina, but she'll be back next summer. You can say good-bye to her then. It'll do just as well." Burns's watch was in his hand. "What time does that train go?" he demanded. "Five-thirty. You can't make it." Chester's watch was also out. "What do you care? Send her a picture postcard explaining that you forgot all about her until it was too "
Otway's only comment on hearing that Jervis Blake had written Rose a postcard from France, had been the words, said feelingly, and with a sigh, "Ah, well! So he has gone out too? He is very young to see something of real war. But I expect that it will make a man of him, poor boy."
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