He seemed to understand, for he gave a
low, despairing cry and the tears sprang to his eyes. He was but a boy.
The other had a foot torn off. One of the orderlies gave him two round
pieces of wood to hold in his hands while the young surgeon cut away the
hanging flesh and bound up the stump.
The doctor had been whispering to one of the bearers. He had the face of
an old man, but his shoulders were broad and he looked sturdy. He
nodded, and beckoned Joan to follow him up the slippery steps.
"It is breakfast time," he explained, as they emerged into the air. "We
leave each other alone for half an hour--even the snipers. But we must
be careful." She followed in his footsteps, stooping so low that her
hands could have touched the ground. They had to be sure that they did
not step off the narrow track marked with white stones, lest they should
be drowned in the mud. They passed the head of a dead horse. It looked
as if it had been cut off and laid there; the body was below it in the
mud.
They spoke in whispers, and Joan at first had made an effort to disguise
her voice.
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