But who else could control the men--men who believed they had sloughed the regiment's honor in a Flanders trench and a German prison camp?
They were sloughing their personal honor that minute, fraternizing with Turkish prisoners.

With their sense of honor gone, could even Ranjoor Singh control them?
Perhaps! But if Ranjoor Singh rode forward, who should stay behind and stand in his shoes?
I looked at the stars, that had the color of jewels in them.

I listened to the night birds.

I heard the wind soughing--the mules and horses stamping--the murmur of men's voices.

My tongue itched to say some foolish word, that would have proved me unfit to be trusted out of sight.