The flanks spread out, in spite of all the shepherding of the N.C.O.s, and the fringe engulfed the photographers.

The cameras on their little platforms went down like ninepins.

It was solemn to see the startled face of a photographer, taken unawares, supplicating the purposeful infantry, before he was swept off his feet into speechlessness.
It was no place for me to linger in, so I chucked away the megaphone and got mixed up with the tail of the third wave.

I was swept on and came to anchor in the enemy trenches, where I found, as I expected, my profane and breathless predecessor, the movie-merchant.

I had nothing to say to him, so I stuck to the trench till it ended against the slope of the hill.
On that flank, delirious with excitement, stood a knot of boy scouts.
My business was to get to Bradfield as quick as my legs would take me, and as inconspicuously as the gods would permit.