He did not know where he had placed it, and he was in great alarm lest we would leave his shop before he could unload it on us.

From both sides of the town French artillery were firing in salvoes, the shocks shaking the air; over the shop of the chemist shrapnel was whining, and in the street the howitzer shells were opening up subways.

But his mind was intent only on finding that American shaving-soap.

I was anxious to get on to a more peaceful neighborhood.

To French soap, to soap "made in Germany," to neutral American soap I was indifferent.