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Updated: June 10, 2025
"I saw your companion in the bomb-proof pit," Poltneck declared. "In fact, I just came from there, but I will tell you.... I was perhaps two hours or more in the hospital, after you three were taken, when they sent for me. I thought it a summons, of course, such, as you "
Peter felt that the head under the helmet was shaven; that here was a man conscious of moving through the days of his life's stateliest fulfillment. Boylan was nearest; a little back from the rest Poltneck stood smiling, singing as he had never sung for the Little Father. It is a fact that the old ranker waited for the end of the stanza. "Who are you?"
Moments were intense again when Poltneck was brought in a tall, angular, sandy-faced chap, with a wide mouth and glistening teeth, a smile that quickened the pulse, somehow. Boylan thought of the passions of women for such men. His shoulders were lean and square.
"Why, there are whole days I can't account for," he muttered. "He must have had me strapped to him for days at a time." He had asked for Poltneck, of whom she had seen the last in Judenbach. The Germans had loved his singing and made very much of him; and Peter had asked for Moritz Abel before the latter came for the day.
"We sent for you to sing to the soldiers. Will you do that?" the General asked, from puffing cheeks. Poltneck looked down at him with sudden steadiness. "On the way home," he said. "You refuse then?" "I would prefer that you wound them first." "At least, he has declared himself," said Dabnitz. They did not murder him then and there. Boylan was glad of that.
Poltneck had been singing folk-songs pure spirit of the boat and cradle, of the march and the marriage and the harvest, of the cruel winter and the pregnant warmth again; songs that had come up from the soil and stream and the simple heart of man, older than Mother Moscow, old beyond any human name to attach to them. True and anonymous, these songs.
Something of her longing frightened him the danger of its intensity. "I think we may almost dare to hope," he repeated. "Peter, I think I think you are braver than any " "Nonsense." "But you did not see ahead! To you, it was a closed door yesterday and last night. Fallows wants to go. He's weary. Abel and Poltneck are old rebels with visions.
I was in that building down the street the amputation cases." "Not the house where those cries come from?" "Yes, we work there. Moritz Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, the singer, and others.... This morning I thought I could not bear to live. It was as you told him about yourself. You see we had no anesthesia, except for cases of life or death among the officers."
Peter Mowbray's shock was the loss of the sense of self; his battle to retain this sense. He seemed to fuse in the heat, the vast solution draining his vitality. He could have given himself to the white fire of a group of men like Spenski, Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, perhaps but to give himself to this.... They were stretching out now as skirmishers, the crush ended.
And so clearly the cause of the failure was shown to me," Poltneck said, with a humility that touched Peter deeply, for his first thought had vanished before the fact that Poltneck neither in the action nor the narrative had once thought of his own life or death. "I should have gone out to the lines and met the men face to face.
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