Saint's Progress. Galsworthy John
She’s a nice lady; she’s seen a lot of us boys: That mud’s not right, you know.” And again his unwounded arm made that restless movement; while the gramophone struck up: “The boys in brown.” The movement of the arm affected Pierson horribly; he rose and, touching the bandaged shoulder, said:
“Good-bye; I hope you’ll soon be quite recovered.”
The young soldier’s lips twisted in the semblance of a smile; his drooped eyelid seemed to try and raise itself.
“Good day, sir,” he said; “and thank you.”
Pierson went back to the hall. The sunlight fell in a pool just inside the open door, and an uncontrollable impulse made him move into it, so that it warmed him up to the waist. The mud! How ugly life was! Life and Death! Both ugly! Poor boys! Poor boys!
A voice behind him said:
“Oh! There you are, Edward! Would you like to see the other ward, or shall I show you our kitchen?”
Pierson took her hand impulsively. “You’re doing a noble work, Leila. I wanted to ask you: Could you arrange for Noel to come and get trained here? She wants to begin at once. The fact is, a boy she is attracted to has just gone out to the Front.”
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