⁠—and I met a maiden as ugly as sin, but beautiful in my eyes after Pozières⁠—you understand⁠—and accompanied her to her poor lodging⁠—in a most verminous place, sir⁠—where we discoursed upon the problems of life and love. O youth! O war! O hell!⁠ ⁠… My horse, that brute who resented me, was in charge of an ostler, whom I believe verily is a limb of Satan, in the yard without. It was late when I left that lair of Circe, where young British officers, even as myself, are turned into swine. It was late and dark, and I was drunk. Even now I am very drunk. I may say that I am becoming drunker and drunker.”

It was true. The fumes of bad champagne were working in the boy’s brain, and he leaned heavily against me.

“It was then that that happened which will undoubtedly lead to my undoing, and blast my career as I have blasted my soul. The horse was there in the yard, but without saddle or bridle.

“ ‘Where is my saddle and where is my bridle, oh, naughty ostler?’ I shouted, in dismay.