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Gibbs, Philip, 1877-1962

"Now It Can Be Told"

The silence
was broken now by the roar of a gun, which sounded so loud that I
jumped sideways with the sudden shock of it. It seemed to be the
signal for our batteries, and shell after shell went rushing through
the night, with that long, menacing hiss which ends in a dull blast.
The reports of the guns and the explosions of the shells followed each
other, and mingled in an enormous tumult, echoed back by the ruins of
Ypres in hollow, reverberating thunder-strokes. The enemy was
answering back, not very fiercely yet, and from the center of the
town, in or about the Grande Place, came the noise of falling houses
or of huge blocks of stone splitting into fragments.
We groped along, scared with the sense of death around us. The first
flares of the night were being lighted by both sides above their
trenches on each side of the salient. The balls of light rose into the
velvety darkness and a moment later suffused the sky with a white
glare which faded away tremulously after half a minute.


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