Well, give me another year and that's the kind of soldier I shall become--the worst kind--the slovenly soldier.

I mean slovenly in mind, in intention.

Even now I come, already bored, to the barrack square and watch the time to see if I can't catch an earlier train from Gravesend to London." "And when you do ?" asked Hardiman.
Luttrell nodded.
"When I do," he agreed, "I get no thrill out of my escape, I assure you.
I hate myself a little more--that's all." "Yes," said Hardiman.

He was too wise a man to ask questions.

He just sat and waited, inviting Luttrell to spread out his troubles by his very quietude.
"Then there are these games," Luttrell cried in a swift exasperation, "-- these damned games! From the first day when the Finns marched out with their national flag and the Russians threatened to withdraw if they did it again----" he broke off suddenly.