He
pushed open the door and walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase
stood open on the floor with Strangwise bending over it. At his
elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case of razors,
different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the
door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger.
"Hullo, Maurice," he said, "are you off, too?"
Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had fished to his face,
staining it with a dark, angry flush.
"My God, how you startled me!" he exclaimed rather testily. "I
never heard you come in!"
He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struck
Desmond as being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter had
never seen him out of temper before.
"Sorry if I butted in," said Desmond, sliding his box of
cigarettes off his finger on to the littered table and sitting
down on a chair. "I came in to say good-bye. I'm going back to
France to-night!"
Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old
self again and was all smiles now.
"So soon?" he said. "Why, I thought you were getting a job at the
War Office!"
Desmond shook his head.
"Not good enough," he replied, "it's back to the sandbags for
mine. But where are you off to?"
"Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be through
with me at last, so they've given me six weeks!"
"Going to the country" asked Desmond.
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