Two others climbed from the platform and lounged in the meagre corridor. It was one of these who had spoken of Verdun. He had, it developed, been there. He sketched his incoherent recollections of its deadly turmoil. He broke off, glancing up with an abrupt reluctance.
Without doubt you recall so and so?"
The other nodded.
"You may have heard. A piece of one of those high explosive shells—a great fragment, all ragged—"
No dismay at the intelligence, scarcely surprise. From the darkness beyond the shed the locomotive whistle shrieked. That sound alone fitted because it was comparable with the sudden grief of a woman.
The train crawled into the obscurity, writhing through the yards like a gigantic reptile. The two officers moved away. In the close, dim carriage we curled ourselves in corners and tried to sleep. But it was difficult not to watch these uniformed figures, outstretched in awkward attitudes which mimicked the appearance of human refuse on a battlefield. Moreover, the train constantly halted. At each station a stocky little fellow would open his eyes, spring up, crash the window down, and demand at the top of his lungs
