'The tent flaps were laced over, the rain had ceased, the guns were silent and Jimmy Harding lay motionless. I ate slowly and dully, staring at my candle. I took my Palgrave from the valise head; it opened at "Barbara" and I read quite coldly and critically until I came to the lines In vain, in vain, in vain You will never come again. There droops upon the dreary hills a mournful fringe of rain then with a great gulp I knocked my candle out and buried my face in the valise.'
