ad ever seen before.
From the bend of the little hill we looked down upon it and the sight
of it made me shudder. It was the deadest place, the _deadest_ place
in the world--all white under the sun it lay there like the bleached
bones of some animal picked clean long ago by the birds.

Not a sound came from it, not a movement could be discerned in it. I
could see, standing out straight from the heart of it, what must have
been once a fine church. It had had four green turrets perched like
little green bubbles on white towers; three of these were still there,
and between them stood the white husk of the place; from where we
watched we could see little fires of blue light sparkling like jewels
between the holes. Over it all was a strange metallic glitter as
though we were seeing through glass, glass shaded very faintly green.
Under this green shadow, which seemed very gently to stain the air,
the town was indeed like a lost city beneath the sea. Catching our
breaths we plunged down into the fantastic depths....

As we descended the hill we were surprised by the silence--not a soul
to be seen. We had expected to find the place filled with the soldiers
of the Sixty-Fifth Division. Our driver on this day was the man
Nikolai whom I have mentioned before as attaching himself from the
very beginning to Trenchard's service. He had been Trenchard's
unofficial servant now for a long time, saying very little, always
succeeding, in some quiet fashion of his own, in accompanying
Trenchard on his expeditions. Nikolai was one of the quietest human
beings I have ever known. His charming ugly face was in repose a
little gloomy, not thoughtful so much as expectant, dreamy perhaps but
also very practical and unidealistic. His smile changed all that; in a
moment his face was merry, even good-humouredly malicious, suspicious,
and a little ironical. He had the thick stolid body of the Russian
peasant who is trained to any endurance, any misfortune that God might
choose to send it. His attachment to Trenchard had been so
unobtrusive that Molozov had officially permitted it without
realising that he had permitted anything. It was so unobtrusive that I
myself had not, during these last weeks, noticed it. To-day I saw
Nikolai glance many times at Trenchard. His eyes were anxious and
inquiring; he looked at him rather as a dog may look at his master,
although there was here no dumb submission, nor any sentimental
weakness.... I should rather say