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Updated: May 4, 2025
Constant rain had rendered an always muddy surface into a slimy quagmire, in which every step forward was a conscious effort. "Party" the ironical humour of it! Each lad was tired, wet, and hungry. Tempers easily ruffled. "Wot the 'ell do yer think year bumpin' into?" shouted Biffer at an unfortunate who had side-slipped into him.
At night they were well content, after a late dinner, to crouch around the glowing brazier and talk, while Biffer surreptiously was wont to fry the bacon he had commandeered. His arch enemy N.C.O.'s invariably endeavoured to trap him. "Ere, you, where'd you get that bacon?" "Bacon?" Biffer looked up with baby-like innocence. "'Ad it sent ain't 'alf got a scent, too."
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