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Full text of "TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston"

April 75.9 p.m. Another day over and wasted. End-
less small tiresome details to be worried through; and
at the end of the day exhaustion, exasperation, and
utter inability to think clearly or collect any thoughts
worth putting down.

Two men, going on leave to Cairo to-morrow, have
just been into my tent for their pay; their happy
excited faces the only human thing worth recording
from the past 15 hours.

April /p.* A week at Kantara gone by. One bad
sandstorm. Company training every day 6,30-10 and
in afternoon. Sand; sunlight. Haven't been half a
mile from camp all the time. Last Sunday night I
took a party down to get their clothes and blankets
boiled. Waited sú hours for the boilers to be disen-
gaged, and then 100 stark naked men stood about
for an hour while most of their worldly possessions
were stewed.

The little Doc. goes away to-morrow to join the
loth Division who are staying in Palestine. I shall
miss his bird-lore and his whimsical companionship
very much.

April 23. Lying in my little bivouac (a new idea
which enables me to be alone) I watch dim shapes
going along the dusty white road in blue dusk and
clouded moonlight. As they pass I overhear scraps
of their talk. Many of them thick-voiced and full of
drink. Others flit past silently. Confused shouts and
laughter from the men's tents behind; from the road
the sound of tramping boots. The pallor of the sand
makes the sky look blue. A few stars are visible,
framed in the triangle of my door, with field-glasses
and haversack slung against the pole in the middle.
Sometimes a horse goes by, or a rumbling lorry. So
I puff my pipe and watch the world, ruminating on

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