Besides, in a few days the temporary post which I held before may be
given to me altogether. Horrible weather, and to make matters worse, I
burnt an absolutely new boot, and am soaking wet, like the others, but
in excellent health.

Dear, I am now going to sleep a little.


_January 6, evening._

DEAR MOTHER,--Here we are in a billet after seventy-two consecutive
hours without sleep, living in a nameless treacly substance--rain and
filth.

I have had several letters from you, dear beloved mother; the last is
dated January 1. How I love them! But before speaking of them I must
sleep a little.


_January 7, towards mid-day._

This interrupted letter winds up at the police-station, where my section
is on guard. The weather is still horrible. It's unspeakable, this
derangement of our whole existence. We are under water: the walls are of
mud, and the floor and ceiling too.


_January 9._