Then a little round mirror, and another square one; this last,
though broken, is of better quality, and bevel-edged. A flask of
essence of turpentine, a flask of mineral oil nearly empty, and a
third flask, empty. A German belt-plate, bearing the device, "Gott
mit uns"; a dragoon's tassel of similar origin; half wrapped in
paper, an aviator's arrow in the form of a steel pencil and pointed
like a needle; folding scissors and a combined knife and fork of
similar pliancy; a stump of pencil and one of candle; a tube of
aspirin, also containing opium tablets, and several tin boxes.
Observing that my inspection of his personal possessions is
detailed, Volpatte helps me to identify certain items--
"That, that's a leather officer's glove. I cut the fingers off to
stop up the mouth of my blunderbuss with; that, that's telephone
wire, the only thing to fasten buttons on your greatcoat with if you
want 'em to stay there; and here, inside here, d'you know what that
is? White thread, good stuff, not what you're put off with when they
give you new things, a sort of macaroni au fromage that you pull out
with a fork; and there's a set of needles on a post-card. The
safety-pins, they're there, separate."
"And here, that's the paper department. Quite a library."
There is indeed a surprising collection of papers among the things
disgorged by Volpatte's pockets--the violet packet of writing-paper,
whose unworthy printed envelope is out at heels; an Army squad-book,
of which the dirty and desiccated binding, like the skin of an old
tramp, has perished and shrunk all over: a note-book with a chafed
moleskin cover, and packed with papers and photographs, those of his
wife and children enthroned in the middle.
Pages:
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