The Soul of the War

nd Dunkirk and junctions on northern lines. The people carried with them the salvage of their homes, wrapped up in blankets, sheets, towels and bits of ragged paper. Parcels of grotesque shap

heads and watery eyes, bewildered by all this turmoil of humanity which had been thrust out, like themselves, from its familiar ways of life. Well-to-do bourgeois, shot with frayed nerves, exhausted by an excess of emotion and fatigue, searched for lodgings, anywhere and at any price, jostled by armies of peasants, shaggy-haired, in clumping sabots, with bundles on their backs, who we

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riends. Boulogne became quiet in the darkness. Perhaps by some miracle all those homeless ones had found a shelter. … I awakened out of a drowsy sleep to hear the tramp of

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man do when people demand admittance to an hotel where there are already six people in the bathroom and sixty on the

night and breathing in the cool air which had an autumn touch, I saw dimly on the pavement below huddled figures in the doorways and

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to answer the question in my own m

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y, its senseless overthrow of all life's decencies, and comforts, and security. The n