During **World War I**, ruined villages often filled with **mendicant** refugees—families begging for bread, their homes reduced to rubble. Soldiers passing through were sometimes **oblivious** to their plight, hardened by months at the front. Officers, however, could be **obstinate**, refusing to adapt tactics even when lives were at stake. War artists set their **palette** to gray and brown, trying to capture mud, smoke, and sorrow on canvas.

Back home, governments grew **parsimonious** with truth, rationing information as carefully as food. Propaganda had a **pedagogical** tone, teaching citizens what to believe, while schools reshaped **pedagogy** itself, preparing students for service and sacrifice. In politics, alliances shifted with **perfidious** ease, nations betraying agreements when convenient. Soldiers sometimes joked **perversely** about orders, using dark humor to survive despair.

Doctors experimented with treatments for shell shock, some as crude as the **placebo effect**, offering sugar pills or false assurances to calm broken minds. In memoirs, the most **poignant** pages came not from victories but from moments of loss—letters unopened, comrades buried hastily in trenches. Yet commanders stressed **pragmatic** choices, building bridges and roads to **preclude** collapse at the front.

Even in classrooms and training camps, psychology left its mark. Recruits drilled harder under praise than punishment, a living proof of the **Pygmalion effect**: expectations shaping outcomes. In war, as in peace, belief—whether in leaders, comrades, or oneself—could mean the difference between despair and endurance.