1 Various veterans had told him tales.
2 The tale had created in him a great concern for himself.
3 He had no strength to invent a tale; he would be a soft target.
4 The youth of this tale felt gratitude for these words of his comrade.
5 He could see himself in a room of warm tints telling tales to listener.
6 But his oration ceased as he saw their eyes, which were large with great tales.
7 Still, he could not put a whole faith in veteran's tales, for recruits were their prey.
8 He was like a listener in a country store to wondrous tales told among the sugar barrels.
9 The officers were impatient and snappy, their countenances clouded with the tales of misfortune.
10 But, as he mortally feared these shafts, it became impossible for him to invent a tale he felt he could trust.
11 Furthermore, he was much afraid that some arrow of scorn might lay him mentally low before he could raise his protecting tale.
12 He thought he must hasten to produce his tale to protect him from the missiles already on the lips of his redoubtable comrades.
13 He was swelled with a tale he had heard from a reliable friend, who had heard it from a truthful cavalryman, who had heard it from his trustworthy brother, one of the orderlies at division headquarters.
14 When he perceived again that it was not possible for the army to be defeated, he tried to bethink him of a fine tale which he could take back to his regiment, and with it turn the expected shafts of derision.