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Combed Out by Frederick Augustus Voigt
page 91 of 188 (48%)
line!"

"'E's a sure Blighty, ain't 'e?"

"Sure!"

The man with the injured arm put on his boots and threw his tunic over
his shoulders and walked off, smiling happily.

A German, looking weak and pale, came in. He was in great agony and had
received permission to enter the theatre with the British wounded, so
that his pain might be relieved as soon as possible.

"'Ullo, Fritzie," said someone in a cheerful voice. "Got a Blighty?"

The German did not understand and looked utterly miserable. He sat down
timidly with the others. The room was dark except for the glow given out
by the stove that lit up the hands and faces of those around it.
Suddenly a man shouted from the background:

"Them bastard Fritzes--I'd poison the 'ole lot." And that started the
argument.

"I reckon one man's as good as another."

"I reckon a Tommy's worth a dozen Fritzes. The bleeders ought ter be
wiped orf the face o' the bleed'n' earth. I see 'em do a thing or two, I
tell yer--me an' my mate was in the line down Plugstreet way when they
crucified a Canadian. I see the tree what they did it on wi' me own
eyes--dirty lot o' swine!"
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