Behind the three officers of the garrison the roof of the mess-room verandah threw a shadow on the ground; it seemed a solid piece of blackness.
One of the three officers struck a match and held it to the end of his cigar.

The flame lit up a troubled and anxious face.
"I hope that no harm has come to him," he said, as he threw the match away.

"I wish that I could say I believed it." The speaker was a man of middle age and the colonel of a Soudanese battalion.

He was answered by a man whose hair had gone grey, it is true.

But grey hair is frequent in the Soudan, and his unlined face still showed that he was young.