RetreatThe boy in front of me faltered,broke stride and slumped to the snow. "I can't go on, Lieutenant, leave me here and go. I'll catch up with the column after a little rest; and if I don't, Lieutenant, it will be for the best."
A boot to his rump, the answer
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TreesFir trees like a child would drawagainst the western sky -- somber cones on the skyline, a day about to die. He gazed for one long moment at the dusky vale so fenced, at the bowl of murky twilight in the texture of which he sensed a silence now so foreign as to grate on his very soul. He put aside his rifle and slumped within his hole. In an agony of hopelessness he fervently longed to die. . . Fir trees like a child would draw against the western sky.
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