Excerpt from Small Things As it happened, I had always left my native land in sunshine-but the unusualness, now, was not in the chill December weather, not in the sweeping driz zle of mist, and the occasional snowflakes that saun tered down to rest for a crystalline moment on one's coat sleeve. It was not in the dimness of the dock sheds where the sizzling uncertainty of arc lamps made the shadows among the rafters seem as vast as Night itself. The sheds are always mysterious -with darkling streets and lanes winding between towering piles of freight. These things did not cause the sense of unusualness in the brooding gray ness of the winter afternoon. It seemed to me, watching from the upper deck, that the difference was that we were all of us, under the clamor and interest of our'departure, wordlessly aware that that freight, that all those bales and boxes and crates, were marked with some red sign: a Red Cross or a Red Triangle. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.