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Full text of "TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston"

cavernous bedroom which I occupied alone. Feeling
worse and worse, in the evening I remembered that I
possessed a thermometer, which had been handed
over to me when I was Transport Officer. I had never
taken the temperatures of any of the horses, but I now
experimented shakily on myself. When I saw that it
indicated 105° I decided that the thing was out of
order; but next morning I was confusedly aware that
Flook had fetched the doctor, and by the afternoon I
was unbelievably at the New Zealand Hospital, which
was in a substantial old building in the middle of
Amiens.

The advantages of being ill were only too obvious.
Lying awake in the large lofty ward on my fourth
night, I was aware that I was feeling rather run down,
but much better—almost too well, in fact. That
evening my temperature had been normal, which re-
minded me that this change from active service to in-
validism was an acute psychological experience. The
door to safety was half open, and though an impartial
New Zealand doctor decided one's destiny, there was
a not unnatural impulse to fight for one's own life
instead of against the Germans. Less than two weeks
ago I'd been sitting in a tent thinking noble thoughts
about sharing the adversities of my fellow Fusiliers.
But that emotional defence wouldn't work now, and
the unutterable words "wangle my way home" forced
their way obstinately to the foreground, supported by
a crowd of smug-faced excuses.

Durley and the Adjutant had visited me that after-
noon; they'd joked with me about how well I was
looking. While they were with me I had talked about

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