Parades End | Page 12 of 168

Author: Ford Madox Ford | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 4758 Views | Add a Review

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h resembled.

A little ring of light now existed on the puce colour of the blanket-covered table. Tietjens showed, silver-headed, fresh-coloured, and bulky; Mackenzie, dark, revengeful eyes above a prognathous jaw. A very thin man, thirtyish.

'You can go into the shelter with the Colonial troops, if you like,' Tietjens said to the runner. The man answered after a pause, being very slow thinking, that he preferred to wait for his mate, O9 Morgan whatever.

'They ought to let my orderly room have tin hats,' Tietjens said to Mackenzie. 'I'm damned if they didn't take these fellows' tin hats into store again when they attached to me for service, and I'm equally damned if they did not tell me that, if I wanted tin hats for my own headquarters, I had to write to H.Q. Canadians, Aldershot, or some such place in order to get the issue sanctioned.'

'Our headquarters are full of Huns doing the Huns' work,' Mackenzie said hatefully. 'I'd like to get among them one of these days.'

Tietjens looked with some attention at that young man with the Rembrandt shadows over his dark face. He said: 'Do you believe that tripe?'

The young man said:

'No...I don't know that I do...I don't know what to think...The world's rotten...

'Oh, the world's pretty rotten, all right,' Tietjens answered. And, in his fatigue of mind caused by having to attend to innumerable concrete facts like the providing of households for a thousand men every few days, arranging parades states for an extraordinarily mixed set of troops of all arms with very mixed drills, and fighting the Assistant Provost Marshal to keep his own men out of the clutches of the beastly Garrison Military Police who had got a down on all Canadians, he felt he had not any curiosity at all left...Yet he felt vaguely that, at the back of his mind, there was some reason for trying to cure this young member of the lower middle classes.

He repeated:

'Yes, the world's certainly pretty rotten. But that's not its particular line of rottenness as far as we are concerned...We're tangled up, not because we've got Huns in our orderly rooms, but just because we've got English. That's the bat in our belfry...That Hun plane is presumably coming back. Half a dozen of them...'

The young man, his mind eased by having got off his chest a confounded lot of semi-nonsensical ravings, considered the return of the Hun planes with gloomy indifference. His problem really was: could he stand the ---- noise that would probably accompany their return? He had to get really into his head that this was an open space to all intents and purposes. There would not be splinters of stone flying about. He was ready to be hit by iron, steel, lead, copper, or brass shell rims, but not by beastly splinters of stone knocked off house fronts. That consideration had come to him during his beastly, his beastly, his infern

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Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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