Sherston was a powerful man. He forced his way, he did not know how, blindly, to the very front of the crowd.
Yes, there were two firemen standing by the low, sunk-in door, that door through which he had come and gone hundreds, nay thousands, of times, in his life. So much was true, but everything else was as usual. "I live here," he said hoarsely. "Will you let me through?"
The fireman shook his head. "No, sir. I can't let any one through. And if I did 'twould be no good. The staircase is clean gone—a great big stone staircase, too! It's all in bits, just like a lot of rubble. The front of the house ain't touched, but the center and behind—well, sir, you never did see such a sight!"
"Any one hurt?" asked Sherston in a strangled tone. He felt a most extraordinary physical sensation of lightness—of—of—was it dissolution?—sweep over his mind and body. He heard as in a far away dream the answer to his question.
"There was no one in the house at all, from what we can make out. The caretaker had a lucky escape, or he'd be buried alive by now, but he and his missus had already gone out to see the sights."
A moment later the fireman was holding Sherston in his big brawny arms, and shouting, "An ambulance this way—send a long a nurse please—gentleman's fainted!" The crowd parted eagerly, respectfully. "Poor feller!" exclaimed one woman in half piteous, half furious tones. "Those damned Germans—they've gone and destroyed the poor chap's little all. I heard him explaining just now as what he lived here!"
[signed]Maid Belloc Lowndes
A Canadian Soldier's Dominion Day at Shorncliffe
"Is there a holiday next Thursday?" inquired a Canadian officer of an English confrere.
"A holiday? Not that I know of. Why should there be?"