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Letters of a Soldier - 1914-1915 by Anonymous
page 71 of 143 (49%)
took on a subtlety of nuances, a richness of variety essentially modern.

One moment I recalled the peculiar outer suburbs of Paris with their
innumerable notes and their suppressed effects. But here there is more
frankness and candour. Here everything was simply rose and blue against
a pale grey ground.

My driver, getting into difficulty with his horse, entrusted the whip to
me to touch up the animal: I must have looked like a little mechanical
toy.

We passed by the Calvaries which keep guard over the Meuse villages, a
few trees gathered round the cross.


_November 24, 3.30_
(back from the march).

I have just received a letter of the 16th and a card, and a dear letter
of the 18th. These two last tell me of the arrival of my packet. How
glad I am to hear that! For a moment I asked myself whether I was right
to send you these impressions, but, between us two, life has never been
and can never be anything but a perpetual investigation in the region
of eternal truths, fervent attention to the truth each earthly spectacle
presents. And so I do not regret sending you those little notes.

My worst sufferings were during the rainy days of September. Those days
are a bitter memory to every one. We slept interlocked, face against
face, hands crossed, in a deluge of water and mud. It would be
impossible to imagine our despair.
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