The girl glanced back: ‘Yes, it’s all right, she’s coming.’
They drove on in silence for a couple of miles. The morning was terribly cold; Mary shivered. ‘What’s that?’ It was rather a foolish question for she knew what it was, knew only too well!
‘They’re at it again,’ Stephen muttered.
A shell burst in a paddock, uprooting some trees. ‘All right, Mary?’
‘Yes—look out! We’re coming to a crater!’ They skimmed it by less than an inch and dashed on, Mary suddenly moving nearer to Stephen.
‘Don’t joggle my arm, for the Lord’s sake, child!’
‘Did I? I’m sorry.’
‘Yes—don’t do it again,’ and once more they drove forward in silence.
Farther down the road they were blocked by a farm cart: ‘Militaires! Militaires! Militaires!’ Stephen shouted.
Rather languidly the farmer got down and went to the heads of his thin, stumbling horses. ‘Il faut vivre,’ he explained, as he pointed to the cart, which appeared to be full of potatoes.