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[Page 38]

(15)
The dull silver of the sky is as a wall. Against it the ragged tree shapes at regular intervals and the line of waggon hoods closer spaced but of equal regularity combine with dark masses and doubtful edges to form a strange frieze, fretted, as it were, out of shadow on a gigantic scale.
Now we have left the slumbering wagons behind and are marching on.
Here we are passing almost the same scene. But the long sleeping line is part of a supply column this time. Far away we can hear the guns at the front as we have heard them night after night and day after

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