The first day after Peter left they were very quiet on the front nearest us, but in the late evening they started a terrific racket.

The next day they never stopped from dawn to dusk, so that it reminded me of that tremendous forty-eight hours before Loos.

I tried to read into this some proof that Peter had got through, but it would not work.

It looked more like the opposite, for this desperate hammering must mean that the frontal assault was still the Russian game.
Two or three times I climbed on the housetop for fresh air.

The day was foggy and damp, and I could see very little of the countryside.
Transport was still bumping southward along the road to the Palantuken, and the slow wagon-loads of wounded returning.