I was awakened by a rough hand on my shoulder to find it dark beyond the windows and Semyonov watching me impatiently: "Come, get up! It's time for us to start," and then moved out.

I was conscious that I was cold and irritable.

I looked back with surprised contempt to my earlier dramatic emotions.

I was hungry; I put on my overcoat, shivered, came out into the evening, saw the line of wagons silhouetted against the sky, listened to the perfect quiet on every side of me, yawned and was vexed to find Trenchard at my side.
"Why this is actually dull!" I thought to myself.

"It is as though I were going to some dinner that I know beforehand will be exceedingly tiresome--only then I should get some food." I was disappointed at the lack of drama in the affair.