"
Very uncomfortably everybody did so, one by one. Another silence. We
racked our brains--the weather--our journey--the war. One had nothing
sensible to say about anything. Jo asked the children's age. The
information was supplied. Silence. We filled the gap by smiling. At last
the mayor's wife said we must be worn out, and they all left us.
The mayor crept back. "Don't talk about the military situation," he
said; "if these Turks knew it they might kill us all." Then he shut the
door.
We flew to a window and opened it, changed our stockings, hung wet boots
and socks over the stove, ate bully beef, and rolled up, pillowing our
heads on our little sacks--thirteen sleepy people.
The mayor's wife opened the door an inch and peeped at us as we lay,
looking, indeed, more like a jumble sale than anything. Mawson wore a
Burglar cap tied under his chin, and a collection of khaki mufflers,
looking equipped for a Channel crossing. Miss Brindley's head was tied
up in a bandana handkerchief; Jo's in a purple oilsilk hood; others
shared mackintosh sheets and blankets; West pulled his Serbian cap right
down to his mouth.
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