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wounded; and of an exhausted Battalion staggering
back to rest-billets to be congratulated by a genial
exculpatory Major-General, who explained that the
attack had been ordered by the Corps Commander.


Wilmot was now minus one of his arms, so my anti-
war bitterness was enabled to concentrate itself on the
fact that he wouldn't be able to play the piano again.
Finally, it can safely be assumed that my entire human
organism felt ultra-thankful to be falling asleep in an
English hospital. Altruism is an episodic and debat-
able quality; the instinct for self-preservation always
got the last word when an infantryman was lying
awake with his thoughts.

With an apology for my persistent specifyings of
chronology, I must relate that on May gth I was
moved on to a Railway Terminus Hotel which had
been commandeered for the accommodation of con-
valescent officers. My longing to get away from
London made me intolerant of the Great Central
Hotel, which was being directed by a mind more mili-
tary than therapeutic. The Commandant was a non-
combatant Brigadier-General, and the convalescents
grumbled a good deal about his methods, although
they could usually get leave to go out in the evenings.
Many of them were waiting to be invalided out of the
Army, and the daily routine orders contained incon-
gruous elements. We were required to attend lectures
on, among other things, Trench Warfare. At my first
lecture I was astonished to see several officers on