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Updated: June 5, 2025
What a long, long time it seemed since those old days of war's alarms! And now, veteran that he was of his country's strenuous times, he had been reduced to abject surrender by a woman's soft eyes and smiling lips. As he sat in his quiet room he held in his hand the letter he had just received from her the letter that had caused him to wear that look of gloom.
Lonely and restless, he had re-entered the Air Service, and had remained in it ever since. "And though the war's long over, I get homesick for the lark's land with the German planes playing tunes on their machine guns and their Archies tickling the soles of my feet," he sighed.
"I sorry am, that my invitation more a compulsion was." "From what Hovan's told me about the way the war's going for you, you didn't have any more choice putting it that way than I did accepting. I just hope it does some good, for both sides. May I contact Emperor Davis, to tell him what I'm doing?"
Boris had a powerful field glass, and through this he and Fred could see the very faces of the watching Germans. Hatred and fear mingled in the looks they sent after the invaders of their country. "One can't blame them," said Fred, with a shudder. "War's rather ghastly, isn't it, Boris?" He looked down into the garden, and Boris's eyes followed his. "Yes," said the Russian.
There, while that sulky iterated boom Shook the thick air, our songs of home we sang; And memory wrought for each on fancy's loom, Unmoved, unshaken by War's clash and clang, Some dreamy picture woven of light and gloom, Of home and peace." Who shall forget that night who took a part in it?
My government fully appreciates your kindness and courtesy in placing at its service the Review which has already contributed to such an honourable extent to the world's knowledge of the great events which are now passing before us. Had the policy of my government undergone any change since the war's commencement I have no doubt that a statement explaining such a change would have been issued.
When their feet at last actually stood on the knoll which had dealt death to their ranks and they saw the brown figures of the enemy that had driven them back in full flight, the men of the 128th felt the thrill of triumph won in the face of bullets. This is a thrill by itself, primitive and masculine, that calls the imagination of men to war for war's sake.
"He minds most the things that happen to the people he cares about. To you and Eliot. They're the sort of things he can't face. He'd pretend they couldn't happen. But the war's so big that he can't say it isn't happening; he's got to stand up to it. And the things you stand up to don't hurt you. I feel certain he'll come through all right." That was the turning point in Colin's malady.
It was true that the revelation of the identity of the accused man had aroused a passing interest in the case, bringing it up from paragraph value on the back page to a "two-heading item" on the "splash" page, but that interest soon died away, for, after all, the son of a Berkshire baronet was small beer in war's levelling days, when peers worked in overalls in munition factories, and personages of even more exalted rank sold pennyworths of ham in East-end communal kitchens.
A mess-mate, a graceless, gallant fellow, who at the war's end had fallen, dying, into his arms, had sent by him a last word of penitent love to his mother, an aged widow.
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