I do not speak Flemish, so I could not ask the chauffeur to desist,
slow down, or let me out to walk. I could only sit tight as the
machine flew round corners, elbowed transports, and threw a warning
shriek to armoured cars. I wondered what would happen if we skidded
into a wagon filled with high explosives. I tried to remember the
conditions of my war insurance policy at Lloyd's. Also I recalled the
unpleasant habit the sentries have of firing through the back of any
car that passes them.
I need not have worried. Except that once we killed a brown chicken,
and that another time we almost skidded into the canal, the journey
was uneventful, almost calm. One thing cheered me--all the other
machines were going as fast as mine. A car that eased up its pace
would be rammed from behind probably. I am like the English--I prefer
a charge to a rearguard engagement.
My pass took me into Dunkirk.
It was dusk by that time. I felt rather lost and alone. I figured out
what time it was at home. I wished some one would speak English. And I
hated being regarded as a spy every mile or so, and depending on a
slip of paper as my testimonial of respectability. The people I knew
were lunching about that time, or getting ready for bridge or the
matinee. I wondered what would happen to me if the pass blew out of
the orderly's hands and was lost in the canal.
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