Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. And me, I know very much of soldiers. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound.
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