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these two were very good friends, and they always
seemed to be cheering one another up. They had
left Durley on duty in the front trench. They wanted
to hear all about the "shows" I had been to in
London, but I couldn't tell them anything (though I
wished I could), for I hadn't been to a theatre, and it
was no use talking about the Symphony Concert at
Queen's Hall5 which now made me feel rather a prig.
Dick was still lying in his dark corner when I said
good-night and groped rny way up the steps, leaving
them to make the most of the smoked salmon. Going
down Canterbury Avenue it was so pitch black that
I couldn't see my own hand; once or twice a flare
went up in the spectral region on the shoulder of the
hill behind me; lit by that unearthly glare the dark-
ness became desolation.

Coming up from the transport lines at twelve
o'clock next morning I found Joe Dottrell standing
outside the Quartermaster's stores. His face warned
me to expect bad news. No news could have been
worse. Dick had been killed. He had been hit in
the throat by a rifle bullet while out with the wiring-
party, and had died at the dressing-station a few
hours afterwards. The battalion doctor had been a
throat specialist before the War, but this had not
been enough.

The sky was angry with a red smoky sunset when
we rode up with the rations. Later on, when it was
dark, we stood on the bare slope just above the
ration dump while the Brigade chaplain went through
his words; a flag covered all that we were there for;
only the white stripes on the flag made any impression