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Full text of "TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston"

a boy standing looking down at the train. The sun
shone gloriously and warmed my face as I craned
from the window to take in as much of this new part
of France as I could. We stay at a rest camp near the
station. Bath and lunch, and then I went marketing
with Marshall. The blue Saone or Rhone—don't
know which it is—flowing nobly along. We leave again
to-night. Am writing this in Y.M.G.A. hut after din-
ner. Entertainment going on. Jock sergeant reciting
poem by R. W. Service; nervous lance-corporal sang
"The truth or a lie, which shall it be?" in a weak
voice without any emphasis.

February ijth. 1.30 p.m. Train crawling toward
Italian frontier. Bright sun and cold wind. Hard frost
last two nights. Feeling ill with fever and chill on
insides. Left St. Germain 2 a.m. yesterday. Bitterly
cold in the train. Went through Avignon, Cannes,
Nice, etc., and along by the sea in late afternoon. A
gaudy parched-looking tourist region. Flowers thrown
to the troops and general atmosphere of Cook's tour.
Groups of black soldiers in red fez and blue uniform
seen at street-ends in brassy sunshine. Beyond Nice
the sea looked less "popular", softly crashing on the
brimming rocks in the dusk, and I heard it at times
during the night, half-sleeping on the seat with my
feet somewhere near Marshall's face. Daylight, red
and frosty, found us beyond Genoa after much rum-
bling and clanking through short tunnels in the dark.

February i8th. (Monday morning.) Through Novi
and Vochera, where we halt for lunch. Funny way
of seeing Italy for the first time, but better than
nothing, and inexpensive. Glaring sunlight and cold
wind. All the afternoon we crawl through vinelands,
with low, blue, delicate-edged hills a few miles
away till the sun goes down and leaves an amethyst