Though none of us could speak the language of the others, yet the sympathy of each enabled us to understand and appreciate one another's opinions.

I always knew what Dandy thought and what he would do.

I always knew too what Philo was thinking about.
Philo had a great horror of shells.

I put this down to the fact that he was born at Beuvry, a place which had been long under shell-fire.
When he heard a shell coming in his direction, Philo used to go to the door of the dugout and listen for the explosion, and then come back to me in a state of whining terror.

He could not even stand the sound of our own guns.