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 *mained alive and all the earth was ravaged; crowded the world with maimed men, blind men, mad men, diseased men; flung Empires into anarchy, where hunger killed the children and women had no milk to feed their babes; and bequeathed to all fighting nations a heritage of debt beneath which many would stagger and fall. It was the "Cease Fire!" of all that reign of death, but sounded very faintly across the fields of France.

In Mons Canadian soldiers were being kissed by French girls. Women were giving them wine in doorways, and these hard-bitten fellows, tough as leather, reckless of all risk, plastered with mud which had worn into their skins and souls, drank the wine and kissed the women, and lurched laughing down the streets. There would be no strict discipline in Mons that night. They had had enough of discipline in the dirty days. Let it go on the night of Armistice! Already at midday some of these soldiers were unable to walk except with an arm round a comrade's neck, or round the neck of strong peasant girls who screeched with laughter when they side-slipped, or staggered. They had been through hell, those men. They had lain in ditches, under frightful fire, among dead men, and bleeding men. Who would grudge them their bit of fun on Armistice night? Who would expect saintship of men who had been taught in the school of war, taught to kill quick lest they be killed, to see the worst horrors of the battlefield without going weak, to educate themselves out of the refinements of peaceful life where Christian virtues are easy and not meant for war?

"Come here, lassie. None of your French tricks for me. I'm Canadian-born. It's a kiss or a clout from me.

The man grabbed the girl by the arm and drew her into a barn.