“The ostler, who, as I informed you, is one of Satan’s imps, answered in incomprehensible French, led the horse forth from the yard, and, giving it a mighty blow on the rump, sent it clattering forth into the outer darkness. In my fear of losing it⁠—for I must be at Pozières at dawn⁠—I ran after it, but it ran too fast in the darkness, and I stopped and tried to grope my way back to the stableyard to kill that ostler, thereby serving God, and other British officers, for he was the devil’s agent. But I could not find the yard again. It had disappeared! It was swallowed up in Cimmerian gloom. So I was without revenge and without horse, and, as you will perceive, sir⁠—unless you are a bloody staff-officer who doesn’t perceive anything⁠—I am utterly undone. I am also horribly drunk, and I must apologize for leaning so heavily on your arm. It’s awfully good of you, anyway, old man.”

The crowd was mostly moving, driven indoors by the rain. The woman who had spoken to me said, “I heard a horse’s hoofs upon the bridge, lá-bas .”