"You'll find them ...

behind there." "Yes, I suppose so," the melancholy little figure repeated and disappeared.
In some way this figure affected Trenchard very dismally and drove all his English common sense away.

We were moving now slowly through clouds of dust, and peasants who watched us from their doorways with a cold indifference that was worse than exultation.
When we arrived, at two or three in the morning, at X----, our destination, the spirits of all of us were heavily weighted.

Tired, cross, dirty, driven and pursued, and always with us that harassing fear that we had now no ground upon which we might rest our feet, that nothing in the world belonged to us, that we were fugitives and vagabonds by the will of God.
As our carriage stopped before the door of the large white building in X---- that seemed just like the large white building in O----, the little officer was again at our side.
"I've got contusion ..." he said.

"I'm very unhappy, and I don't know where to go." Trenchard felt now as though in another moment he would tumble back again into his nightmare of yesterday.