Energy books

When I first went into Arras during its occupation by the French I
remembered a day, fifteen months before, near the town of St.-Pol in
Artois, where I was caught up in one of those tides of fugitives which
in those early days of war used to roll back in a state of terror
before the German invasion. "Where do they come from?" I asked,
watching this long procession of gigs and farmers' carts and tramping
women and children. The answer told me everything. "They are
bombarding Arras, m'sieur."
Since then "They" had never ceased to bombard Arras. From many points
of view, as I had come through the countryside at night, I had seen
the flashes of shells over that city and had thought of the agony
inside. Four days before I went in first it was bombarded with one
hundred and fifty seventeen-inch shells, each one of which would
destroy a cathedral. It was with a sense of being near to death--not a
pleasant feeling, you understand--that I went into Arras for the first
time and saw what had happened to it.


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