Somehow, in the utter chaos of battle, he heard an officer ordering them to fall back. Kimble reluctantly followed a much smaller mass of men back toward friendly lines, pausing every hundred feet or so to load and fire.
     When they reached the comparative safety of the apple trees, he began to look for the rest of his company.
Hennie gave her a quick look and then peered out of the window.
     We drew up before an immense palace of pink-and-white marble with orange-trees outside the doors in gold-and-black tubs.
     "Would you care to go in?" I suggested.
     She hesitated, glanced, bit her lip, and resigned herself. "Oh well, there seems nowhere else," said she. "Get out, Hennie."
     I went first - to find the table, of course - she followed. But the worst of it was having her little brother, who was only twelve, with us. That was the last, final straw - having that child, trailing at her heels.     
The wounded were everywhere. Their pitiful pleas for water sounded like some sick droning swarm of gigantic insects. He found Ashton among them. Kimble and three others standing nearby were the only members of the company unscathed. Ashton was lying on the grass, a bloody bandage wrapped around his head.