Poor Mrs. Dowey, he is putting on his kit.
‘Where are you living?’
He sighs.
‘That’s the question. But there’s a place called The Hut, where some of the 2nd Battalion are. They’ll take me in. Beggars,’ bitterly, ‘can’t be choosers.’
‘Beggars?’
‘I’ve never been here before. If you knew’—a shadow coming over him—‘what it is to be in such a place without a friend. I was crazy with glee, when I got my leave, at the thought of seeing London at last, but after wandering its streets for four hours, I would almost have been glad to be back in the trenches.’
‘If you knew,’ he has said, but indeed the old lady knows.
‘That’s my quandorum too, Kenneth.’
He nods sympathetically.
‘I’m sorry for you, you poor old body,’ shouldering his kit. ‘But I see no way out for either of us.’