A_Separate_Peace_-_Full_Text

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They laughed at him a little, and he squirmed and looked guiltier than ever. He had a very
weak foothold among the Butt Room crowd, and I had pretty well pushed him off it. His glance
flickered out at me from his defeat, and I saw to my surprise that I had, by making a little fun
of him, brought upon myself his unmixed hatred. For my escape this was a price I was willing
to pay.
"French, French," I exclaimed. "Enough of this contretemps. I've got to study my French."
And I went out.
Going up the stairs I heard a voice from the Butt Room say, "Funny, he came all the way
down here and didn't even have a smoke."
But this was a clue they soon seemed to forget. I detected no Sherlock Holmes among them,
nor even a Dr. Watson. No one showed any interest in tracking me, no one pried, no one
insinuated. The daily lists of appointments lengthened with the rays of the receding autumn sun
until the summer, the opening day, even yesterday became by the middle of October something
gotten out of the way and forgotten, because tomorrow bristled with so much to do.
In addition to classes and sports and clubs, there was the war. Brinker Hadley could
compose his Shortest War Poem Ever Written
The War
Is a bore
if he wanted to, but all of us had to take stronger action than that. First there was the local
apple crop, threatening to rot because the harvesters had all gone into the army or war
factories. We spent several shining days picking them and were paid in cash for it. Brinker was
inspired to write his Apple Ode
Our chore
Is the core
of the war
and the novelty and money of these days excited us. Life at Devon was revealed as still very
close to the ways of peace; the war was at worst only a bore, as Brinker said, no more taxing to
us than a day spent at harvesting in an apple orchard.