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Updated: May 24, 2025
The huge face of Boylan close by mutely implored him to be silent. "Samarc," he called. Samarc did not turn. Now Peter saw the red face of Kohlvihr in its gray fringe suddenly lifted and enlarged. The effigy was close to it, but not higher, and hands were tightening beneath it Samarc's strong unhurt hands. There had been one snarling scream. It was followed by a shot from Dabnitz.
Just as an orchardist, discovering a certain parasite on his trees, thinks of a specific poison, so they knew that this great "forward" of the Russian foot-soldiers would start the Austrian machine and rapid-fire batteries. They were moving now in front of a long line of new Russian works which had appeared deserted. Boylan would have known better; Samarc should have known.
"Lieutenant Dabnitz," Peter said, his hand upon the Russian's shoulder, speaking very quietly, "I feel like a fool doing nothing all day long and so much to do. I want you to take me over to that hospital Samarc is in, and set me officially to work. Let me be orderly, anything, to-day. I want to help, if you'll forgive me " "Gladly, Mr. Mowbray. I'm sure they'll be very glad.
There'll be a hard pull to get across the hills to-morrow all hands, Peter." "This may be our last night in Judenbach then?" "If killing a division will start a hole across that range of hills, it's our last night " I'll sit it out with Samarc," Peter said. "Go to it, if you think best. You were a mighty sick woman this morning. Something in yonder helped you.
In fact he came to believe that we are all mixed men and women, and that it is the woman in us that suffers most. He had a suspicion that there was a woman in Boylan, and had to smile just there. He sank into the work, and saved himself. Samarc appeared to be asleep. He would have laughed to have heard his own talk afterward.
He had been sitting by the cot watching the war within the war, head bowed on his free hand. It was a struggle of white and black of knights and kings, plumes and horses, white and black.... Now the wounded man seemed sending messages through his hand. The lamps were low. "It's been the day of days, Samarc," Mowbray said. "You brought me something that I needed very much.
Palace Square near the river corner; her little house in Warsaw and the tall flowers between; across the siding after Fransic; her coming to the cot of Samarc, and all the wonderful films of the skylight prison the dearest of all as she slept. He could not hold the battle in mind, for he was very rich with these pictures, and for days had tried vainly to think just how she looked.
This was the day of the great battle, but there was to be breakfast first. He recalled what was in the saddle-bags. This proved unsatisfactory. Even that hinged on Peter, as every thought so far. ... Boylan now reflected that he might have stayed longer in the ward last night. There was just as much to hold him to the cot of Samarc as had called Peter.
They were anticipating the next day with the battery. "I miss Samarc, too," said Peter. Romanceless, remorseless routine. The day that followed was their hardest, for they were pressing the Austrians, taking their punishment but inflicting punishment, as if called of God to extinguish a nation. The face of the world seemed turned from them, in Peter's fancy.
Presently his heart was light again, the pent forces of expression springing gladly into use. "...The laughable thing about it," he finished, " the thing that held me speechless as Samarc left my side there in the dark corner of the pit was that just a few minutes before Kohlvihr had promised to see that the Little Father decorated him.
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