But he wanted a home--he wanted to marry.

He began to think again--in leisurely fashion--of the Rector's granddaughter.
Was that Mrs.Sarratt descending the side-lane?
The sight of her recalled his thoughts instantly to the war, and to a letter he had received that morning from a brother officer just arrived in London on medical leave--the letter of a 'grouser' if ever there was one.
'They say that this week is to see another big push--the French probably in Champagne, and we south of Bethune.

I know nothing first-hand, but I do know that it can only end in a few kilometres of ground, huge casualties,--and, as you were! _We are not ready_--we can't be ready for months.

On the other hand we must keep moving--if only to kill a few Germans, and keep our own people at home in heart.

I passed some of the Lanchesters on my way down--going up, as fresh as paint after three weeks' rest--what's left of them.