He washed hurriedly, and then stared down with a shamed look at his
muddy uniform, all creased and bedraggled. After that he asked if he
could get out downstairs, and I told him the door was unlocked.
He hesitated for a moment before leaving my room.
“I am sorry to have given you all this trouble. It was very decent of
you. Many thanks.”
The boy was a gentleman when sober. I wonder if he died at Pozieres,
or farther on by the Butte de Warlencourt... A week later I saw an
advertisement in an Amiens paper: “Horse found. Brown, with white sock
on right foreleg. Apply--”