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But the gunner, who was already holding four pairs by the tags, let them fall to the ground. Sergeant Keyser picked them up, scolding furiously. The dust from the floor had stuck in thick streaks on the greasy leather. Then a bright idea occurred to the sergeant. He held the boots up before Findeisen's face and bellowed at him, "Lick that off, you swine!"
The reservist heard him go along the passage to Findeisen's cell. Shortly after, the click of the spurs was again audible passing his door, and then everything was as still as before. Wolf lay on the bed and munched hard lumps of bread, from time to time taking a drink of water.
The leather things also were unimpeachable, and the boots were in the exact regulation condition not brightly polished, but merely rubbed over with grease to prevent the leather from drying up. Keyser muttered a surly "all right," and turning away threw the things over Findeisen's arm and put the boots into his hand.
It was not really meant literally, that was plain; but an ungovernable fury began to glow in his eyes. Findeisen had drawn back. He ground his teeth and looked defiance straight into the sergeant's eyes. This maddened Keyser. His face became purple with passion, and again he hissed out, "Dog, lick it at once!" Suddenly the resolute spirit of opposition died out of Findeisen's eyes.
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