Scorrier finished his inspection and went on a shooting trip into the
forest. His host met him on his return. “Just look at this!” he said,
holding out a telegram. “Awful, isn't it?” His face expressed a profound
commiseration, almost ludicrously mixed with the ashamed contentment
that men experience at the misfortunes of an enemy.
The telegram, dated the day before, ran thus “Frightful explosion New
Colliery this morning, great loss of life feared.”