Our only hope was Sandy, and he gave no sign of his existence.

I began to fear that with him, too, things had miscarried.
And yet I wasn't really depressed, only impatient.

I could never again get back to the beastly stagnation of that Constantinople week.

The guns kept me cheerful.

There was the devil of a bombardment all day, and the thought that our Allies were thundering there half a dozen miles off gave me a perfectly groundless hope.