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Suddenly the amorous girl released one of her divine breasts from its bonds of confinement and pushed it forward for him to kiss. "Baisez mon têton, mon cher Alphonse, je meurs pour vous!" And she herself slipped the rosy nipple in his mouth. While he was thus engaged she kissed his hair, his ears and forehead. "O foutez-moi foutez-moi mon cher, Mon con est en feu!"
So the ball is started and goes rolling from one man to another in the ranks, growing in audacity and wallowing along filthy ways of thought, until the sous-officier, who had been grinning under his kepi, suddenly turns red with anger and growls out a protest. "Taisez-vous, cochons. Foutez-moi la paix!"
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