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I turned to my right, simply by chance, and followed a long gallery in the dark, not running I was too fearful of making the least noise but walking with the tiptoe-swiftness of terror. At the termination of this was a cross-gallery, one end of which that to my left terminated in a great window, through which the dusky night-view was visible.
Here men are posted, while all work is for a time stopped, to listen for the first sounds of the enemy's sappers the thud-thud of the picks or the "cough" of the man whose lungs seek this relief in the stuffy air of the cramped tunnel. If the enemy is not found, progress is continued forward from both ends of the cross-gallery and the game goes merrily on.
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