Now there are only dead out there--thousands of dead, I think.

And they have been there twenty days.

Once in a while a shell strikes that old sugar mill or falls into one of those trenches.
Then--well, then, it is worse for those who serve in the front lines." "But in the name of God, man," I said, "why don't they call a truce-- both sides--and put that horror underground ?" He shrugged his shoulders.
"War is different now," he said.

"Truces are out of fashion." I stood there and I smelled that smell.

And I thought of all those flies, and those blood-stiffened stretchers, and those little inch-long figures which I myself, looking through that telescope, had seen lying on the green hill, and those automobiles loaded with mangled men, and War de Luxe betrayed itself to me.