was no one.
The emptiness pervaded everything.
It was more shocking than the reverberations of
many guns.
We entered a street that was once, I suppose, the pride of Arras. A grass plot in the middle, lined with trees, reminded me of Park Avenue in New York. We drew up. On our side was a high garden wall. On the other, beyond the grass and the trees and the roadway, was an old French barracks, torn to pieces.
"I'm going to take one of the cars and drive to the provost marshal's," Williams said. "I want to find out what we'd better do now we're here. While I'm gone don't move from under the trees. It's the safest place for you."
He was off. One of the Japanese wanted to know if it was dangerous. The driver of the other car, who had joined us by the fence, laughed above the cracking roar. He stooped and commenced to pick from the grass great, jagged pieces of shell casing. He offered them for the Japanese's inspection.
"Sounds like a gigantic fireworks exhibition," the foreign office man mused.
The sun now and then struggled from behind the clouds, but always the atmosphere was dun, and abnormal, and frightening. A sifting dust coloured it.
