He was sure of that
without thinking.
When he began to think how he came to be there he remembered the war
as a very far-off thing. He supposed he had been unconscious a very
long time. He was all right now.
Other people were sitting beside him on the same seat. They all seemed
like people he remembered a very long time ago. In the darkness
opposite, beyond the windows of the train, he could see their
reflections clearly. He looked at the reflections but could not quite
remember.
A woman was sitting on his left. She was quite young. She was more
like some one that he most deeply remembered than all the others were.
He gazed at her, and tried to clear his mind.
He did not turn and stare at her, but he quietly watched her
reflection before him in the dark. Every detail of her dress, her
young face, her hat, the little ornaments she wore, were minutely
clear before him, looking out of the dark. So contented she looked you
would say she was untouched by war.
As he gazed at the clear calm face and the dress that seemed neat
though old and, like all things, so faraway, his mind grew clearer and
clearer.
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