Those Yellow Pine Boxes It was late in the short afternoon, and getting close on to twilight, when we got back into the town.

Except for the soldiers there was little life stirring in the twisting streets.

There was a funeral or so in progress.

It seemed to us that always, no matter where we stopped, in whatsoever town or at whatsoever hour, some dead soldier was being put away.

Still, I suppose we shouldn't have felt any surprise at that.
By now half of Europe was one great funeral.