“Ah bet them guys has a good time. Ah put in an application back in trainin' camp for Aviation. Ain't never heard nothing from it though. If Ah had, Ah wouldn't be lower than dirt in this hawg-pen.”
“It's wonderful up here on the hill this evening,” said Andrews, looking dreamily at the pale orange band of light where the sun had set. “Let's go down and get a bottle of wine.”
“Now yo're talkin'. Ah wonder if that girl's down there tonight.”
“Antoinette?”
“Um-hum.... Boy, Ah'd lahk to have her all by ma-self some night.”
Their steps grew brisker as they strode along a grass-grown road that led through high hedgerows to a village under the brow of the hill. It was almost dark under the shadow of the bushes on either side. Overhead the purple clouds were washed over by a pale yellow light that gradually faded to grey. Birds chirped and rustled among the young leaves.
Andrews put his hand on Chrisfield's shoulder.
“Let's walk slow,” he said, “we don't want to get out of here too soon.” He grabbed carelessly at little cluster of hawthorn flowers as he passed them, and seemed reluctant to untangle the thorny branches that caught in his coat and on his loosely wound puttees.
“Hell, man,” said Chrisfield, “we won't have time to get a bellyful. It must be gettin' late already.”
They hastened their steps again and came in a moment to the first tightly shuttered houses of the village.