appeared save for jagged pieces of glass, its roof
have been pierced by shells, but by very contrast
it was serviceable. From one such survival
slipped with a sickly stealth the odour of ether. It
was a first aid post whose attendants worked under
risks nearly as great as those of the men in the
front line. The cold and brutal agony it housed
reflected itself in the scarred brick wall and the
tile roof from which the rain dripped with a suggestion of inexhaustible mourning. It was good
to turn to another structure from which a savoury
scent emerged joyously.
At the end of the curving street a tower arose. Even above the debris of the town it presented an abhorrent spectacle. That was because it was the skeleton of a church. Like a mutilated sentry it seemed engaged in the pitiful occupation of guarding that which was no longer worth the trouble. Shells shrieked overhead, and through the heavy air the gross petulance of the guns continued uninterrupted.
Poilus strolled against that background. They were a little wraith-like in their damp blue uniforms. They carried out of the cook house tin pails from which fragrant steam arose, or beneath their arms they hugged great round loaves of bread, As they went they laughed or talked silently. One by one they disappeared back of
