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The place was still in the making, and stood some five or six feet above the metalled road, which it flanked for hundred yards … She climbed a few wooden-faced earthen steps and then met the entire crowded level of the thing in one held breath. She did not know Hagenzeele Third counted twenty-one thousand dead already. All she saw was a merciless sea of black crosses, bearing little strips of stamped tin at all angles across their faces.


This is from “The Gardener” in Debits and Credits.

Helen Turrell, an unmarried woman, has borne a son, to whom she was devoted. Like thousands of young men he had joined up with enthusiam in the Great War, joined the Royal Flying Corps, and crashed to his death. Here she is seeking his grave in a massive cemetery in Flanders.