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Paths of Glory - Impressions of War Written at and Near the Front by Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury) Cobb
page 95 of 310 (30%)
singing Die Wacht am Rhein feebly.

One poor chap raises his head and looks out. He appears to be almost
spent, but I see his lips move as he tries to sing. You may not care
for the German cause, but you are bound to admire the German spirit--the
German oneness of purpose.

Noon. As the Texas darky said: "Dinnertime fur some folks; but just
twelve o'clock fur me!" Again I smell something cooking upstairs. On
the mantel of the shabby little interior sitting room, where we spend
most of our time sitting about in a sad circle, is a little black-and-
tan terrier pup, stuffed and mounted, with shiny glass eyes--a family
pet, I take it, which died and was immortalized by the local
taxidermist. If I only knew what that dog was stuffed with I would take
a chance and eat him.

I have a fellow feeling for Arctic explorers who go north and keep on
going until they run out of things to eat. I admire their heroism and
sympathize with their sufferings, but I deplore their bad judgment.
There are grapes growing on trellises in the little courtyard at the
back, but they are too green for human consumption. I speak
authoritatively on this subject, having just sampled one.

Two p.m. Tried to take a nap, but failed. Hansen found a soiled deck
of cards behind a pile of books on the mantelpiece, and we all cheered
up, thinking of poker; but it was a Belgian deck of thirty-two cards,
all the pips below the seven-spot being eliminated. Poker with that deck
would be a hazardous pursuit.

McCutcheon remarks casually that he wonders what would happen if
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