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276 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1930
All that long drag back was a hideous nightmare. The track was worse than when we had come in and the shelling was incessant. We moved with infinite slowness, every step a struggle, a tearing physical effort, and a vast noise was over all, a thundering, rolling clamour that dulled our thinking, mercifully smothering some of our agonized impressions of the night before.
I'd seen men twisting and writing in their sleep after big battles, tortured by visions that held them on a rack, by screams and shouts and the sounds of fighting that still echoed in their ears, and I knew that years would not entirely remove such remembrances. Those images of war would be with us as long as memory remained, needing but a slight impetus to make many nights an ordeal of dread, haunting us like scuttling winged ghouls, obliterating the finer, saner susceptibilities.
Prisoners! We were prisoners, prisoners who could never escape. I had been trying to imagine how I would express my feelings when I got home, and now I knew I never could, none of us could. We could no more make ourselves articulate than could those who would not return; we were in a world apart, prisoners, in chains that would never loosen till death freed us."