“Cheer-oh, cove.”
It was Corporal Sweeney with the grey grouse out of his eyes, a proper man, well groomed.
“Bon jour, monsieur, comme vous êtes gai aujourd-hui.”
“Demobbed, demain, compris?”
The two men smiled at each other, and Sweeney cast an eye over the house.
“Your dug-out, what?”
Brent nodded, wondering if he might allow himself a little more English.
“A bit of all right. Blimy! You’ve got a roof and winders.”
“Entrez,” said Paul, and took him in and gave him red wine.
The corporal had cigarettes; he offered Brent one, and lay in the arm-chair and drank in the goodness of life.