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ALL QUIET

in plaster. When I am back again with Kropp I tell him that apparently a hospital train comes in to­-morrow morning.

“We must work the army medical sergeant-major so that we can keep together, Albert.”

I manage to slip the sergeant-major two of my cigars with belly-bands, and then tip the word to him. He smells the cigars and says: “Have you got any more of them?”

“Another good handful,” I say, “and my com­rade,” I point to Kropp, “he has some as well. We might possibly be glad to hand them to you out of the window of the hospital train in the morning.”

He understands, of course, smells them once again and says: “Done.”

We cannot get a minute’s sleep all night. Seven fellows die in our ward. One of them sings hymns in a high cracked tenor before he begins to gurgle. Another has crept out of his bed to the window. He lies in front of it as though he wants to look out for the last time.

Our stretchers stand on the platform. We wait for the train. It rains and the station has no roof. Our

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