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“I wish I knew his Christian name!” said
Josephine, wiping her eyes.
* *
Two big bloodshot eyes had never left off
watching the Doctor while he was busy with
the dying boy. The eyes were all one could
see of the man lying next to the boy; his
whole head was a big bundle of blood-stained
towels and rough bandages, and his gigantic
body was covered by the long cloak of a
Bavarian soldier. The nun brought the
Doctor some linen, torn off a sheet to replace
the bandage dripping with blood. He almost
wished he had not attempted it. The whole
face and throat was one enormous wound:
the jaw had been shot away and the tongue
was torn. A sinister rattle accompanied his
short and irregular breathing. All their
efforts to give him some food or drink had
failed, said the nun, and not even a drop of
water had they succeeded in making him
swallow. They cleansed his frightful wound as
well as they could; tried to remove the clots
of blood obstructing the air passages, and
raised his head to make him breathe a little
more easily. With infinite trouble they
succeeded, with the help of the village Doctor,
in improvising a sort of tube through which
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