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A FAREWELL TO ARMS
while the stream from the stretcher above lessened and started to drip again and I heard and felt the canvas above move as the man on the stretcher settled more comfortably.
“How is he?” the Englishman called back. “We’re almost up.”
“‘He’s dead I think,” I said.
The drops fell very slowly, as they fail from an icicle after the sun has gone. It was cold in the car in the night as the road climbed. At the post on the top they took the stretcher out and put another in and we went on.
