They came out from those places⁠—if they had the luck to come out⁠—apparently unchanged, without any mark of the beast on them, and when they cleansed themselves of mud and filth, boiled the lice out of their shirts, and assembled in a village street behind the lines, they whistled, laughed, gossiped, as though nothing had happened to their souls⁠—though something had really happened, as now we know.