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. . .
"Then I remember a jerk and a feeling that I was flying up again. I
was astonished by a tremendous popping--fabric, wires, everything
seemed going pop, pop, pop, like a machine-gun, and then came a
flash of intense pain as my arm crumpled up. It was quite
impersonal pain. As impersonal as seeing intense colour.
SPLINTERS! I remember the word came into my head instantly. I
remember that very definitely.
"I thought, I suppose, my arm was in splinters. Or perhaps of the
scraps and ends of rods and wires flying about us. It is curious
that while I remember the word I cannot recall the idea. . . .
"When I became conscious again the chief thing present in my mind
was that all those fellows round were young soldiers who wouldn't at
all understand bad behaviour. My arm was--orchestral, but still far
from being real suffering IN me. Also I wanted to know what
Challoner had got. They wouldn't understand my questions, and then
I twisted round and saw from the negligent way his feet came out
from under the engine that he must be dead.


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