Twenty-five thousand men lay dead around us.
But how treacherous is fortune! In a little while — say an hour — happened a thing, by my own fault, which — but I have no heart to write that. Let the record end here.
Twenty-five thousand men lay dead around us.
But how treacherous is fortune! In a little while — say an hour — happened a thing, by my own fault, which — but I have no heart to write that. Let the record end here.