"While I was lying here listening to the continued roar of all those great guns, I couldn't keep from humming it as a sort of undernote." "This gully has a queer effect," said St.Clair, who, lying on a blanket, was dusting every minute particle of dried mud from his uniform.
"It seems to soften the sounds of all those guns--and they must be a couple of hundred at least.

It produces a kind of harmony." "It's the old god Vulcan and a thousand assistants of his hammering away on their anvils," said Harry, "and they hammer out a regular tune." "Besides hammering out a tune," said St.Clair, "they're also hammering out swords and bayonets to be used against us." As he spoke he drew from his pocket a tiny round mirror, not more than three inches in diameter, and carefully examined the collar of his coat.
"Have you found a speck, Arthur ?" asked Langdon.

"If I hadn't seen you risk your life fifteen or twenty thousand times I'd say you're a dandy." "I am a dandy," said St.Clair.

"At least, I mean to be one, if I come out of the war alive." "What do you intend to wear ?" asked Harry.
"Depends upon what I can afford.

If I have the money, it's going to be the best, the very best any market can afford." "A dozen suits, I suppose." "At least as many, with hats, shoes, overcoats, cloaks, shirts and all the et ceteras to match.