"In England," said Margaret, "snow adds the charm of peace and purity to
the countryside. There's never, I should think, enough of it to give the
sense of utter desolation and deadness that it gives one in Russia."
"It's so uncertain with us," was my reply. "I've known a whole winter
without a snowflake, and I've walked knee-deep in it in May."
The Colonel stopped his marching and swishing and came to the window.
"Don't bother, Madge," said he. "We'll pull through. Hallo, I didn't see
yon wagon last night."
He took out his snuff-box and, hearing the noise of the enemy in the
corridor, walked with it in his hand across to the door. He tapped his box
with accustomed preciseness, but I, a step behind, having lingered for a
last look into Margaret's eyes, heard him mutter, "Damn the wagon!"
"Ho, there within, in the King's name," shouted the sergeant.
"Ho, there without, in the devil's name," mimicked the Colonel.
"I want speech with Colonel Waynflete," shouted the sergeant.
"Then, seeing that Colonel Waynflete cannot at the moment give himself
the pleasure of slitting your ruffian's throat, you may speak on," was the
reply.
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