For all those periods of forgetfulness memory is now rushing upon me.

I'm hungry not only for the present but from the past.

It'll take a lot to satisfy me." The briskness of the night also sharpened Pennington's appetite.

They were deep in autumn, and the winds from the mountains had an edge.
The foliage had turned and it glowed in vivid reds and yellows on the slopes, although the intense colors were hidden now by the coming of night.
The wind was cold enough to make the fires feel good to their relaxed systems, and they spread out their hands to the welcome flames, as they had often done at home on wintry nights, when children.

Beyond the trees the horses, under guard, were grazing on what was left of the late grass, but within the wood the men themselves, save those who were preparing food, were mostly lying down on the dry leaves or their blankets, and were talking of the things they had done, or the things they were going to do.
"I wonder what the bill of fare will be tonight," said Pennington, who was growing hungrier and hungrier.
"I had several engraved menus," said Warner, "but I lost them, and so we won't be able to order.