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. . Through the night he slept in a drugged way,
but just at dawn he woke up and stretched himself, with a queer little
moan. Then he sat up and said:
"Where am I?"
"In a billet at Amiens. You lost your horse last night and I brought
you here."
Remembrance came into his eyes and his face was swept with a sudden
flush of shame and agony.
"Yes . . . I made a fool of myself. The worst possible. How can I get
back to Pozieres?"
"You could jump a lorry with luck."
"I must. It's serious if I don't get back in time. In any case, the
loss of that horse--"
He thought deeply for a moment, and I could see that his head was
aching to the beat of sledge-hammers.
"Can I wash anywhere?"
I pointed to a jug and basin, and he said, "Thanks, enormously."
He washed hurriedly, and then stared down with a shamed look at his
muddy uniform, all creased and bedraggled. After that he asked if he
could get out downstairs, and I told him the door was unlocked.
He hesitated for a moment before leaving my room.


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