"The farther you go from the front the more you see of them."

"Their battlefield is not the same as ours."

Tulacque had an ancient grudge against them. "Look," he said, "how
the bobbies spread themselves about to get good lodgings and good
food, and then, after the drinking regulations, they dropped on the
secret wine-sellers. You saw them lying in wait, with a corner of an
eye on the shop-doors, to see if there weren't any poilus slipping
quietly out, two-faced that they are, leering to left and to right
and licking their mustaches."

"There are good ones among 'em. I knew one in my country, the
Cote d'Or, where I--"

"Shut up!" was Tulacque's peremptory interruption; "they're all
alike. There isn't one that can put another right."

"Yes, they're lucky," said Volpatte, "but do you think they're
contented? Not a bit; they grouse. At least," he corrected himself,
"there was one I met, and he was a grouser. He was devilish bothered
by the drill-manual. 'It isn't worth while to learn the drill
instruction,' he said, 'they're always changing it. F'r instance,
take the department of military police; well, as soon as you've got
the gist of it, it's something else. Ah, when will this war be
over?' he says."

"They do what they're told to do, those chaps," ventured Eudore.