This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1918. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... rejoice to a very different tune, assuredly, if that "only" applied to him and Simonstone! I wonder if the alleviation is so very great, after all, or whether it might not be happier to die quickly, under the ruins of the house and home one has made and cared for, than to be driven out shivering across the world like a leaf on an autumn gale, hopeless, homeless, penniless, without any prospect of ever finding pence or home again? You cannot have omelettes, of course, without breaking eggs: and in this vast omelette we are cooking, how many hundreds upon thousands of shattered people and homes and houses are the broken eggs! These little villages, then, are only quite small baskets that have contributed their infinitesimal quota to the omelette: if you want to see a panier on the true market scale, which has given every egg it had, the place to go to is Arras. i3. Arras Arras is a big town, or was. And now you can fairly say that there is not one house left intact in it, from end to end. It is full of a new life now, of course, of soldiers and officials and so on, yet the impression it gives is of a corpse. It is a quite dead city, murdered and silent. You go along the gloomy streets, up and down, and there is traffic going on and cheery-looking fellows, and notices of cinemas chalked up on the shuttered shops. But over the whole scene there broods a hush, as if you were in the house with a dead body. The streets are dark and quiet as you go through, and every building in them has got its roof blown in or its frontage blown out. They have a forlorn, abandoned, empty-eyed look, and their insides are shamelessly laid bare. A curtain dismally flaps from a servant's attic, and oleographs still hang askew on the walls, and there are flower-pots poised on an upstairs s...
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This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1918. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... rejoice to a very different tune, assuredly, if that "only" applied to him and Simonstone! I wonder if the alleviation is so very great, after all, or whether it might not be happier to die quickly, under the ruins of the house and home one has made and cared for, than to be driven out shivering across the world like a leaf on an autumn gale, hopeless, homeless, penniless, without any prospect of ever finding pence or home again? You cannot have omelettes, of course, without breaking eggs: and in this vast omelette we are cooking, how many hundreds upon thousands of shattered people and homes and houses are the broken eggs! These little villages, then, are only quite small baskets that have contributed their infinitesimal quota to the omelette: if you want to see a panier on the true market scale, which has given every egg it had, the place to go to is Arras. i3. Arras Arras is a big town, or was. And now you can fairly say that there is not one house left intact in it, from end to end. It is full of a new life now, of course, of soldiers and officials and so on, yet the impression it gives is of a corpse. It is a quite dead city, murdered and silent. You go along the gloomy streets, up and down, and there is traffic going on and cheery-looking fellows, and notices of cinemas chalked up on the shuttered shops. But over the whole scene there broods a hush, as if you were in the house with a dead body. The streets are dark and quiet as you go through, and every building in them has got its roof blown in or its frontage blown out. They have a forlorn, abandoned, empty-eyed look, and their insides are shamelessly laid bare. A curtain dismally flaps from a servant's attic, and oleographs still hang askew on the walls, and there are flower-pots poised on an upstairs s...
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