That Charlie and Bertie Pritchard, and Martin and Clarence Roseveare, and the Straker brothers, and West, and Finch, and Lantham, and Gosset, should all have to die so that England could continue in its smug small-mindedness seemed worse than a tragedy, for it was not beautiful. No, it was only stupid, and Ellwood hated the muddy fields and the dreary sheep and the clumsy, prehistoric rock formations that they had all been asked to die for.
