It was a night when London was ringed and stabbed with fire.

One of the parodoxes of war is that those in the rear want to get up into the fight, while those in the lines want to get out.

War makes strange giant creatures out of us little routine men who inhabit the earth.

It was a night when London was ringed and stabbed with fire.

The closest fires were near enough for us to hear the crackling flames and the yells of firemen. Little fires grew into big ones even as we watched. Big ones died down under the firemen's valor only to break out again later.

For a lifetime I had bathed with becoming regularity, and thought the world would come to an end unless I changed my socks every day. But in Africa I sometimes went without a bath for two months, and I went two weeks at a time without even changing my socks. Oddly enough, it didn't seem to make much difference.

I've really been sick with this cold, but I think I might have kept the columns going anyhow except I was just so low in spirit, I didn't have the will to struggle against them when my deadline was so close and I felt so lousy.