Prostitutes -- Fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- England -- London -- Fiction
The _rouquin_ had informed her one day that the Belgian Government had
come to Ostend. Proof enough, according to him, that Ostend could not
be captured by the Germans! After that he had said nothing about the
Belgian Government for many days. And then one day he had informed
her casually that the Belgian Government was about to leave Ostend
by steamer. But days earlier the old fat woman had told her that the
German staff had ordered seventy-five rooms at the Hôtel des Postes at
Ghent. Seventy-five rooms. And that in the space of a few hours Ghent
had become a city of the dead.... Thousands of refugees in Ostend.
Thousands of escaped virgins. Thousands of wounded soldiers.
Often, the sound of guns all day and all night. And in the daytime
occasionally, a sharp sound, very loud; that meant that a German
aeroplane was over the town--killing ... Plenty to kill. Ostend was
always full, behind the Digue, and yet people were always leaving--by
steamer. Steamers taken by assault. At first there had been
formalities, permits, passports. But when one steamer had been taken
by assault--no more formalities! In trying to board the steamers
people were drowned. They fell into the water and nobody troubled--so
said the old woman. Christine was better; desired to rise. The
_rouquin_ said No, not yet. He would believe naught. And now he
believed one thing, and it filled his mind--that German submarines
sank all refugee ships in the North Sea. Proof of the folly of leaving
Ostend. Yet immediately afterwards he came and told her to get up.
That is to say, she had been up for several days, but not outside. He
told her to come away, come away. She had only summer clothes, and it
was mid-October. What a climate, Ostend in October! The old woman said
that thousands of parcels of clothes for refugees had been sent by
generous England. She got a parcel; she had means of getting it. She
opened it with pride in the bedroom of the flat. It contained eight
corsets and a ball-dress. A droll race, all the same, the English.
Had they no imagination? But, no doubt, society women were the same
everywhere. It was notorious that in France....
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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