I tell you, Langdon, it makes my blood jump every time I hear it." He recited in a sort of low chant: "The neighing troop, the flashing blade, The bugle's stirring blast, The charge, the dreadful cannonade, The din and shout are past.
"Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal Shall fill with fierce delight Those breasts that never more may feel The rapture of the fight." They were very young and, in some respects, it was a sentimental time, much given to poetry.

As the darkness closed in and the lights of the little city could be seen no longer, their thoughts took a more solemn turn.

Perhaps it would be fairer to call them emotions or feelings rather than thoughts.

In the day all had been talk and lightness, but in the night omens and presages came.

Langdon was the first to rouse himself.