Then the rumble of the guns was deep and
muffled like the sound of heavy iron balls rolling over the ground; at
other times, the discharges were quite near and rent the air with a
crash, bursting over the men's very heads, as it were.
The commander of the squad stood right in front of his men and kept
lighting cigarettes shielding them with the skirts of his cloak. He
did it so often that it seemed as if he had been vainly attempting to
light the same cigarette for the last three hours. The soldiers were
attentively looking at his back and were all morbidly anxious to help
him. It was cold and damp, and they felt an incessant, nauseating
gnawing in the pit of the stomach. It was not fear but an indefinite
anguish, a sort of _the-sooner-over-the-better_ feeling.
Several hours passed in this manner, but towards noon it all changed
abruptly. Though the sky was still as grey as before and it drizzled
continuously, it grew lighter, the clouds in one spot became white and
shining and one felt that the sun was somewhere behind them.
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