A sort of hammock-like sling passed under his arms, and a rope ran from it to a hook in a wall and was knotted fast to the hook.
He swung there, neither sitting nor lying, fighting for the breath of life, with an unspeakable misery looking out from his eyes; and he was too far spent to lift a hand to brush away the flies that swarmed upon his face and his lips and upon his bare, throbbing throat.

The flies dappled the faces of his fellow sufferers with loathsome black dots; they literally masked his.

I preserve a memory which is just as vivid of certain things I saw in a big institution in Laon.

Although in German hands, and nominally under German control, the building was given over entirely to crippled and ailing French prisoners.

These patients were minded and fed by their own people and attended by captured French surgeons.