Once or twice, very casually, somebody asked us to refrain from writing about this thing or that thing which we had seen; but that was all.
In a corner of the turnip field close up to the road were mounds of fresh-turned clay, and so many of them were there and so closely were they spaced and for so considerable a distance did they stretch along, they made two long yellow ribs above the herbage.

At close intervals small wooden crosses were stuck up in the rounded combs of earth so that the crosses formed a sort of irregular fence.

A squad of soldiers were digging more holes in the tough earth.

Their shovel blades flashed in the sunlight and the clods flew up in showers.
"We have many buried over there," said an artillery captain, seeing that I watched the grave diggers, "a general among them and other officers.
It is there we bury those who die in the Institute hospital.

Every day more die, and so each morning trenches are made ready for those who will die during that day.