'No more fighting for you and precious little for me.

The Boche is done in all right ...

What you've got to do, my lad, is to sleep fourteen hours in the twenty-four and spend half the rest catching trout.

We'll have a shot at the grouse-bird together this autumn and we'll get some of the old gang to join us.' Someone put a tea-tray on the table beside us, and I looked up to see the very prettiest girl I ever set eyes on.

She seemed little more than a child, and before the war would probably have still ranked as a flapper.