We remained imprisoned in the barracks, in ignorance.

The only events were those related by the newspapers which were handed to us through the gates in the morning.
The war got on very slowly; it immobilized itself, and we--we did nothing, between the roll-calls, the parades, and from time to time some cleaning fatigues.

We could not go into the town, and we waited for the evening--standing, sitting, strolling in the mess room (which never seemed empty, so strong was the smell that filled it), wandering about the dark stairs and the corridors dark as iron, or in the yard, or as far as the gates, or the kitchens, which last were at the rear of the buildings, and smelt in turns throughout the day of coffee-grounds and grease.
We said that perhaps, undoubtedly indeed, we should stay there till the end of the war.

We moped.

When we went to bed we were tired with standing still, or with walking too slowly.