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To F. S. Flint:

I would like to dedicate this little book to you since, among my friends, you will I think be most likely to understand, through similar experiences, the moods it attempts to express.

Like "Images" this little book comes out of a conflict, but whereas in the former the conflict was of the spirit here it is of the flesh. "Images" consisted of short-hand notes, as it were, to illustrate the moods of a spirit torn between the beauty one imagines and the ugliness that is thrust upon one. The conclusion—if any—that I wanted drawn was a kind of tolerance, an affection for "carnal wisdom" as well as for "divine wisdom." I don't think I succeeded; the matter was not interesting to most readers and the manner—more or less novel at the time—repelled many who might otherwise have been interested.

Here I have written less for myself and you and others who are interested in subtleties and more for the kind of men I lived with in camp and in the line. (That they did not understand very much is a matter for cheerful acceptance.) Perhaps I have lost something by this; but you must know that, in intention at least, this is a book by a common soldier for common soldiers.