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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Like a top!" chimed in pasty-faced Peterkin, the valet's son, to be in fashion. "I didn't sleep much myself; in fact, not at all," said Hugo Mallin. "Oh, ho!" groaned Pilzer, the butcher's son, with a broad grin that made a crease in the liver patch on his cheek. "You see, it's a new experience for me," Hugo explained in a drawl, his face drawn as a mask.
Pell-mell they crowded into the dining-room, Hugo with the rest, feeling himself a straw on the crest of a wave, and Pilzer, most bitter, most ugly of all, his short, strong teeth and gums showing and his liver patch red, lumpy, and trembling.
"Sometimes by squinting at the moonlight and counting odd numbers; sometimes by knowing that anything that's different is ridiculous; and sometimes by looking for tangent truths out of professorial ruts," Hugo observed with a sort of erudite discursiveness which was the rank dissimulation of a hypocrite to Pilzer and wholly confusing to Peterkin, not to say a draught on mental effort for many of the others.
An army of five millions on our side against the Browns' three millions! Of course, they won't start it! We shall have to take the aggressive; naturally, they'll not." "And they'll run, they'll run, just as they always have" Eugene cried enthusiastically. "You bet they will, or they'll be mush for our bayonets!" said Pilzer, the butcher's son. "Will they?
They were very amiable and they didn't begin to call me a swill-eating land-shark or any other of the pretty names I've heard they are so fond of using. 'We want to keep what is ours, they said. 'Your side will have to start the fight by crossing the line. We shall not!" "Because they know they'll be licked!" put in Pilzer hotly.
And, in a manner of speaking, the soul of this tone quality is the vibrato, though the individual instrument also has much to do with the tone. "But not," Mr. Pilzer continued, "not as it is too often mistakenly employed. Of course, any trained player will draw his bow across the strings in a smooth, even way, but that is not enough.
One of the old reservists was telling me of talk of an army of women marching to the front to learn the truth of the situation." "If you don't stop leaning on me I'll give you a punch you'll remember!" exclaimed Pilzer as he rammed his elbow into the old reservist's ribs. "I beg pardon! It was because I am tired and sort of blank-minded," the old reservist explained.
He aimed for Hugo's back, but a bullet had hit Hugo in the calf of his leg and, his knees giving under him, he received the blow on the head and fell unconscious. When he came to it was with a twitch of pain in his ribs. He saw the glowering faces of his comrades above him and realized that Pilzer had given him a kick which expressed the general opinion.
Pilzer, the butcher's son, wanted to kill for the sheer joy and revenge of killing. He rejoiced in the dead and the blood spots that, as clearly as the trench itself, marked the line that Dellarme's men had occupied along the crest of the knoll.
"I thought it was about time!" said the barber's son. "Yes, the !" snarled Pilzer. The shell had struck some distance away from where they sat, and as the dust settled they heard the news of the result: "One fellow had his arm broken and another had his head crushed." "It'll keep us from working on the mine while we mend the breach," said the barber's son.
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