Told by an English officer in a dugout this is a story of hate and its influence on the hater and his victim. Worked out in an ingenious atmosphere which sometimes combines farce with real tragedy and which carries the scene from London, about the world even to a shipwrecked boat for eight days on the open seas. The hater degenerates and takes on the characteristics most despised in his enemy. Points the obvious moral that "the more you beat Fritz by becoming like him, the more he has won." Interesting, too much analysis to be popular.
e checked himself, apparently on the point of telling more; but the pause grew into a long silence.
Barham tried back. "January, you said, sir? . . . and now we're close upon the end of October--"
He could get nothing out of the C.O.'s eyes, which were bent on the table; and little enough could he read in his face, save that it was sombre with thought and at the same time abstracted to a degree that gave the boy a sudden uncanny feeling. It was like watching a man in the travail of second sight, and all the queerer because he had never seen an expression even remotely resembling it on the face of this hero of his, with whose praise he filled his home-letters--"One of the best: never flurried: and, what's more, you never catch him off his game by any chance."
Otway's jaw twitched once, very slightly. He put out a hand to pick up his pen and resume writing; but in the act fell back into the brown study, the trance, the rapt gaze at a knot in the woodwork of the table. His hand rested for a
Interesting action and adventure, but more than half the book is 1900 +/- British dialogue--too much for me.