22/74 Nothing of the war in all this. At the stations there were officers eating "Ztchee" soup and veal and drinking glasses of weak tea, there were endless mountains of hot meat pies; the ikons in the restaurants looked down with benignancy and indifference upon the food and the soldiers and beyond the station the light green trees blowing in the little wind; the choruses of the soldiers came from their trains as though it were the very voice of Spring itself. It sounded in the distance like-- _Barinisha Barinisha--Pop. inisha la._ The bell rang, officers with meat pies in their hands came running across the platform. We swung on again through the green golden day. |