down the shell-swept road—and still they came pouring in without cessation. Gerald, watching the poor, struggling crowd, swore softly under his breath. He hadn’t seen gas and its effects before, and the first time you see it you generally feel like killing something German to ease the strain. And it was at this moment that a bursting shell scattered a bunch of staggering men and almost blew an officer coming down the road into his arms.
The officer smiled at him feebly and then wiped some froth from his lips with the back of his hand. He stood there swaying, his breath coming and going like a horse that’s touched in the wind after being galloped. Out of one sleeve the blood was pouring, and with his hand he’d made a great smear of blood across his mouth. His face was green, and the gas sweat was all over him.
“Good God!” muttered Gerald. “Sit down, my dear fellow.”
“No,” he answered; “I must get on.” He spoke slowly and with terrible difficulty, passing his tongue over his lips from time to time and staring fixedly at Gerald. “Where
