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"If I were to stick there, doing nothing, looking at the wounded, I should go offwounds Theydrea to see it I know it's going to be more horrible than any wound I've ever seen And then I wake That's why I don't look at the at the Cotton wool"

And she, putting her hand on his ar her hands off and his queer voice rising "I wish you wouldn't do that, Charlotte You know I hate it"

He had never said anything to her like that before It hadn't struck her before that, changed to hiht She had hurt hie of his cowardice hurt hiht: Here's Antwerp falling and Belgium beaten And all those wounded And the dead And here as, as if they s

The fire froe street as they cah it all, going up and down, helping with the stretchers John was down there in the wine-shop, where the soldiers were, looking for more wounded

They had found five in the stable yard, waiting to be taken away; they had h the back of his head, still lay on the ground on a stretcher that dripped blood Charlotte stood beside him

The curé came to her there He was slender and lean in his black cassock He had a Red Cross brassard on his sleeve, and in one hand he carried his missal and in the other the Host and the holy oils in a little bag of purple silk He looked down at the stretcher and he looked at Charlotte, s faintly

"Where is Monsieur?" he said

"In the wine-shop, looking for wounded"

She thought: He isn't looking, for the He'll always be like that

It had begun again The bullets whistled in the air and rapped on the stone causeway, and ceased The curé glanced down the street towards the place they had coain