keeping still that you felt, wave by wave, the rising thrill of the
adventure. Only by keeping still she was aware of what was passing in
John's mind. He knew. He knew. They were one in the almost palpable
excitement that they shared; locked close, closer than their bodies could
have joined them, in the strange and poignant ecstasy of danger.

There was the sound of an explosion somewhere in front of them beyond
the houses.

"Did you hear that, Mademoiselle?"

"I did."

"Miles away," said John.

She knew it wasn't. She thought: He doesn't want me to know. He thinks
I'll be frightened. I mustn't tell him.

But the Belgian had none of John's scruples. The shell was near, he said;
very near. It had fallen in the place they were going to.

"But that's the place where the wounded men are."

He admitted that it was the place where the wounded men were.

They were out of the village now. Their road ran through flat open
country, a causeway raised a little above the level of the fields. No
cover anywhere from the fire if it came. The Belgian had begun again.

"What's that he's saying now?"