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Bagnold, Enid, 1889-1981

"The Happy Foreigner"


She was seized with fits of violent shivering. At one moment she had
planned in her despair to call to Foss and tell him she would walk--but
she had let the moment pass and now she put away the thought of walking
on those lifeless feet. Besides, she would be seen--that well-known cap,
bobbing back between the trees from Chantilly so early in the morning!
"Oh, Honour of the Section, I am guarding you like my life!" She tried
to raise her head a little to ease her neck.
"Don't move," said Foss.
Feet pattered past her; motors swept by; bicycle bells rang.
"Foss," she said.
The soldier leant towards her and listened.
"Choose your own time, but you must let me sit up a moment. I am in
pain."
"Then, now, mademoiselle!"
She sat up, flinging the rug back, dazzled by the splendour of the
forest, the climbing sun, the heavy-burdened trees. Behind her was a
cart coming up slowly; far ahead a cyclist swayed in the ruts of the
road. As they approached her she pleaded: "They can't know me! Let
me sit up--"
But Foss knew only one master, his sergeant.
"Better go down, mademoiselle."
She went down again under the black rug, close against the wind that
lifted the floor-boards, wrapping her coat more tightly round her,
folding her arms about her knees.
"It must be nearly eight. I have an hour more before they come in to
breakfast.


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