“It was an indescribable sensation of bliss to be yet alive, if only for a short time, if only for just one little hour longer. Anything might happen in an hour …”
Back in my cell, evil thoughts encircled me, knowing all too well the significance of this visit to the hospital. The end of the war in sight; that was the bitterness. Ironical that I had dodged so many, so many of those sanguine afternoons down there.
Monday morning I looked down into the yard. There were the boxes, piled six high, three laterally – eighteen! I wonder on which label might be indited my name.
Before leaving my cell in the afternoon when they came to fetch me, I insisted on washing my eating-bowl and spoon and putting them where they were wont to be, knowing how loathsome it is to discover a bowl crusted with the dried…
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