Міжзірковий мандрівник
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
