Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. Of course, I don’t deny that there’s a restlessness and anxiety at bottom. I can’t exactly describe the sensation; it’s a kind of gnawing despair that comes over one mostly in the morning at breakfast. You no sooner open your paper (I take in two besides Kopeika) than you are brought back to the horrors that are happening over there to those poor Belgians, to their houses and children, and you feel as though some one had poured cold water over you, and turned you out naked on a frosty winter’s day. Still, this sensation has no relation to fear; it’s merely a feeling of human pity for those in distress.<br><br>As I was saying, on that first day I was ridiculously frightened. It makes me blush to think of it.
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