“David, ever thought of getting out of the service?”
The question took me by surprise, coming so close to thoughts that had haunted me for weeks.
“At times, when I get the cafard,” I admitted. “Every one does.”
“How long have you been in the Legion?”
“Over two years, now. There isn’t much of the glamor left, sir. It gets to be a long drag without much light ahead.” A little regretful of my frankness, I sought to justify myself. “You see, I went into it from the spirit of adventure; it was a man’s job. I don’t say it wasn’t also from love of the French. You couldn’t have seen that mobilization and not have felt a thrill. Then—you do hate a bully. At bottom, though, it was the adventure,—the biggest thing that had ever happened in the world. You couldn’t be there and keep out of it.”
“But now—?”
“Now the thrill is gone,” I admitted. “It’s grim plugging, not much fireworks or new business. When you’ve seen Verdun—”
“Yes?”
“When you’ve gone through that,” I said, frowning at the starting memories of that inferno, “it takes it out of you.”