The man shook his head. Speech of any sort was difficult. Even with his lips close to the other's ears, he had almost to shout. It's all one can do to walk alone when you get out in the middle of the field, away from the shelter of the embankment here. There's bits of trees flying all down the lane.
Folks is fair afraid of the morning to see what's happened.
There's a mill blown right over on its side in the next field, and the man in charge of it lying dead. This poor chap's bad enough. Gerald, on all fours, had crept back into the compartment. The bottle of wine was smashed into atoms. He came out, dragging the small dressing-case which his companion had kept on the table before him.