"Lovely view, isn't it?" said Semyonov, watching him.
"Lovely," answered Trenchard.
Semyonov sat down on the little stone seat beneath the Cross and looked up at his rival. Trenchard looked down at him, hating his square, stolid composure, his thick thighs, his fair beard, his ironical eyes. "You're a beastly man!" he thought.
"How long are you going to be with us, do you think?" asked Semyonov.
"Don't know—depends on so many things."
"Why don't you go back to England? They want soldiers."
"Wouldn't pass my eyesight."
"When are they going to begin doing something on the other Front, do you think?"
"When they're ready, I suppose."
"They're very slow. Where's all your army we heard so much about?"