USER: The Soldier IT was one of those nights that made him feel he knew what it was like to be a blind man; not the shadow of an image for his eyes to discern, not even the forms of the trees visible against the sky. Out of the darkness he became aware of small rustling noises in the hedge, the breathing of a horse some distance away in the field, the soft thud of a hoof as it moved its foot; and once he heard the rush of a bird flying past him low overhead. "Jock," he said, speaking loud. "We'll go home now." And he turned and began to walk back up the slope of the lane, the dog pulling ahead, showing the way in the dark. It must be nearly midnight, he thought. That meant that soon it would be tomorrow. Tomorrow was worse than today. Tomorrow was the worst of all because it was going to become today--and today was now. Today had not been very nice, especially that business with the splinter (1). Stop it, he told himself. There isn't any sense thinking about it. It doesn't do anyone any good thinking about things like that. Think about something else for a change. You can kick out a dangerous thought, you know, if you put another in its place. Go right back as far as you can go. Let's have some memories of sweet days. The seaside holidays in the summer, wet sand and red buckets and shrimping nets and the slippery seaweedy rocks and the small clear pools and sea anemones and snails and mussels and sometimes one grey translucent shrimp hovering deep down in the beautiful green water....