I was brought up to believe that everyone brave is forgiven, but in wartime courage is cheap and clemency out of season.

People spoke in whispers, as if the war was listening

She knew, now, why her father had not spoken of the last war, nor Alistair of his. It was hardly fair on the living.

There was less of him now. There was less of them all. Officers and men dragged themselves around in uniforms three sizes too big, new holes punched into every belt, every collar hanging loose. They were a garrison of skinny boys performing a play about soldiers.

Alistair smiled. 'How long this war has been.''I'll say. One hardly remembers how we lived before. Lightly - not worrying much.''Do you suppose we shall ever live that way again?''Oh, who knows? Given sufficient champagne and ether.''Maybe if we stay drunk to the end of our days we shan't remember.

I move we get more wine,' Alistair said. 'What does the panel think?'...It was obvious that the entire war could be solved in this way. The trick would be to reach for a corkscrew instead, every time some brass hat ordered artillery.

Everything can be restored. If one won't believe that, how does one endure all this?

Then I’m tempted to die just to … spite him.”“That’s the spirit that will win us the war.

There in the sweet sacking smell of the mail bags he understood that he was dying, and it pleased him that he was going in the company of so many soft words home.