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Barbusse, Henri, 1873-1935

"Under Fire: the story of a squad"

Can't resist these
things."
We settled ourselves to yawning and sighing, and finally we lighted
a stump of candle, wet enough to resist us although covered with our
hands; and we watched each other yawn.
The German dug-out consisted of several rooms. We were against a
partition of ill-fitting planks; and on the other side, in Cave No.
2, some men were also awake. We saw light trickle through the
crannies between the planks and heard rumbling voices. "It's the
other section," said Marthereau.
Then we listened, mechanically. "When I was off on leave," boomed an
invisible talker, "we had the hump at first, because we were
thinking of my poor brother who was missing in March--dead, no
doubt--and of my poor little Julien, of Class 1915, killed in the
October attacks. And then bit by bit, her and me, we settled down to
be happy at being together again, you see. Our little kid, the last,
a five-year-old, entertained us a treat. He wanted to play soldiers
with me, and I made a little gun for him. I explained the trenches
to him; and he, all fluttering with delight like a bird, he was
shooting at me and yelling. Ah, the damned young gentleman, he did
it properly! He'll make a famous poilu later! I tell you, he's quite
got the military spirit!"
A silence; then an obscure murmur of talk, in the midst of which we
catch the name of Napoleon; then another voice, or the same, saying,
"Wilhelm, he's a stinking beast to have brought this war on.


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