Whenever we sighted an army we lashed the flags of its country to our headlights, and at sixty miles an hour bore down upon it.
The army always first arrested us, and then, on learning our nationality, asked if it were true that America had joined the Allies.
After I had punched his ribs a sufficient number of times Morgan learned to reply without winking that it had.

In those days the sun shone continuously; the roads, except where we ran on the blocks that made Belgium famous, were perfect; and overhead for miles noble trees met and embraced.

The country was smiling and beautiful.

In the fields the women (for the men were at the front) were gathering the crops, the stacks of golden grain stretched from village to village.

The houses in these were white-washed and, the better to advertise chocolates, liqueurs, and automobile tires, were painted a cobalt blue; their roofs were of red tiles, and they sat in gardens of purple cabbages or gaudy hollyhocks.