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Give me that cord!" The urchin handed him the noose without a word. Trent struck a match and looked at his assailant. It was the rat-killer of the day before. "H'm! I thought so," he muttered. "Tiens, c'est toi?" said the gamin tranquilly. The impudence, the overpowering audacity of the ragamuffin took Trent's breath away.
The rat-killer finished and stepped back to view his work, but catching sight of Trent's bayonet, screamed and fled, and as Trent staggered across the shattered street, from holes and crannies in the ruins fierce women fled from their work of pillage, cursing him. At first he could not find his house, for the tears blinded him, but he felt along the wall and reached the door.
He tried it. Then a sudden longing, a fierce, imperative desire took possession of him. "Chouette!" cried a gamin, clinging to the barred gate, "encore toi mon vieux?" Trent looked up, and the rat-killer laughed in his face. But when the soldier had taken the rifle again, and thanking him, ran hard to catch his battalion, he plunged into the throng about the gateway.
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