To that I might add also my own romantic conception; if Trenchard
never saw her clearly because he loved her, I never saw her clearly
because--because--why, I do not know.... She was, from first to last,
a figure of romance, irritating, aggressive, enchanting, baffling,
always blinding, to all of us.
During the morning after our arrival in M---- Trenchard worked in the
theatre, bandaging and helping with the transport of the wounded up
the high and difficult staircase. Then at midday, tired with the heat,
the closeness of the place, he escaped into the little park that
bordered the farther side of the road. It was a burning day in
June--the sun came beating through the trees, and as soon as he had
turned the corner of the path and had lost the line of ruined and
blackened houses to his right he found himself in the wildest and most
glittering of little orchards. The grass grew here to a great
height--the apple-trees were of a fine age, and the sun in squares and
circles and stars of light flashed like fire through the thick green.
Pages:
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263