'The tent flaps were laced over, the rain had ceased, the guns were silent and Jimmy Harding lay motionless. I ate slowly and dully, staring at my candle. I took my Palgrave from the valise head; it opened at "Barbara" and I read quite coldly and critically until I came to the lines

In vain, in vain, in vain
You will never come again.
There droops upon the dreary hills a mournful fringe
of rain

then with a great gulp I knocked my candle out and buried my face in the valise.'