Межзвёздный скиталец

Chapter 7

           

           Iwritetheselinesto-dayintheYearofOurLord1913,andto-day,intheYearofOurLord1913,menarelyinginthejacketinthedungeonsofSanQuentin.

           Ishallneverforget,aslongasfurtherlivingandfurtherlivesbevouchsafedme,mypartingfromPhiladelphiaRedthatmorning.Hehadthenbeenseventy-fourhoursinthejacket.

           “Well,brother,you’restillalivean’kickin’,”hecalledtome,asIwastotteringlydraggedfrommycellintothecorridorofdungeons.

           “Shutup,you,Red,”thesergeantsnarledathim.

           “Forgetit,”wastheretort.

           “I’llgetyouyet,Red,”thesergeantthreatened.

           “Thinkso?”PhiladelphiaRedqueriedsweetly,erehistonesturnedtosavageness.“Why,youoldstiff,youcouldn’tgetnothin’.Youcouldn’tgetafreelunch,muchlessthejobyou’vegotnow,ifitwasn’tforyourbrother’spull.An’Iguessweallain’tmistakenonthestinkoftheplacewhereyourbrother’spullcomesfrom.”

           Itwasadmirable—thespiritofmanrisingaboveitsextremity,fearlessofthehurtanybruteofthesystemcouldinflict.

           “Well,solong,brother,”PhiladelphiaRednextcalledtome

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