A babel of laughter, of chatter, every now and again men tumbled against one another, like cubs in a cave, and rolled upon the floor.

Lawrence, his feet planted wide apart, was standing in the middle of an admiring circle, explaining something very slowly.
"If the old scrum-half," he was saying, "only stood back enough---" What a splendid lot they were! What a life it was! So much joy in the heart of so much beauty!.

.

.

Cambridge! As he crossed the white court the strains of "Egypt" came, like a farewell, through the tumbling snow.
There was still a thing that he must do.