they weren't worth while!"

So, until Caron returns, Poterloo continues on his behalf the
wearing of the Bavarian machine-gunner's boots.

Thus do they exercise their wits, according to their intelligence,
their vivacity, their resources, and their boldness, in the struggle
with the terrible discomfort. Each one seems to make the revealing
declaration, "This is all that I knew, all I was able, all that I
dared to do in the great misery which has befallen me."

* * * * * *

Mesnil Joseph drowses; Blaire yawns; Marthereau smokes, "eyes
front." Lamuse scratches himself like a gorilla, and Eudore like a
marmoset. Volpatte coughs, and says, "I'm kicking the bucket."
Mesnil Andre has got out his mirror and comb and is tending
his fine chestnut beard as though it were a rare plant. The
monotonous calm is disturbed here and there by the outbreaks of
ferocious resentment provoked by the presence of parasites--endemic,
chronic, and contagious.

Barque, who is an observant man, sends an itinerant glance around,
takes his pipe from his mouth, spits, winks, and says--"I say, we
don't resemble each other much."

"Why should we?" says Lamuse. "It would be a miracle if we did."

* * * * *