The narrator tries to buck Stroeve up. They wrote each other little notes in French every day. They were heart and soul for the Al ies and names like Verdun or Chemin des Dames started little shivers running down their spines. Now I was sure.
It very vast now. Dassn't let him ramble, now. Itook one more step and then stopped, hearing the harsh sound of myrespiration as I drew each breath down my throat and then pushed it backout over the dry floor of my tongue. They shit in thesamepit.
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