“Steam was rising weirdly from his clothes. His hangover was visible. It heaved itself to his shoulders and sat there like a bag of wet cement.”

“Nick felt a tear rise to his eye at the thought of the child's utter innocence of hangovers.”

“Beside us lies a fair-headed recruit in utter terror. He has buried his face in his hands, his helmet has fallen off. I fish hold of it and try to put it back on his head. He looks up, pushes the helmet off and like a child creeps under my arm, his head close to my breast. The little shoulders heave. Shoulders just like Kemmerich's. I let him be.”

“Just get your clothes back on, and leave the way you came." Or he’d gladly heave her ass out, preferably from the nearest window. Then he’d burn his sheets.”

“There must be a mistake," I said. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder. "That's a creative name. What do you shorten it to? Missy?”

“His wife was disappearing from life like a wet mark drying on a shirt.”