“Hospital isn't any better,” said Andrews with a sigh. “Though I shall never forget the night with which I realized I was wounded and out of it. I thought I was bad enough to be sent home.”
“Why, I wouldn't have missed a minute of the war.... But now that it's over...Hell! Travel is the password now. I've just had two weeks in the Pyrenees. Nimes, Arles, Les Baux, Carcassonne, Perpignan, Lourdes, Gavarnie, Toulouse! What do you think of that for a trip?... What were you in?”
“Infantry.”
“Must have been hell.”
“Been! It is.”
“Why don't you come to Paris with me?”
“I don't want to be picked up,” stammered Andrews.
“Not a chance.... I know the ropes.... All you have to do is keep away from the Olympia and the railway stations, walk fast and keep your shoes shined... and you've got wits, haven't you?”
“Not many.... Let's drink a bottle of wine. Isn't there anything to eat to be got here?”
“Not a damn thing, and I daren't go out of the station on account of the M.P. at the gate.... There'll be a diner on the Marseilles express.”