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Chapter 9

           Therewasalittleshelterofgreenbranchesoutsideovertheentranceandinthedarkthenightwindrustledtheleavesdriedbythesun.Insidetherewasalight.Themajorwasatthetelephonesittingonabox.Oneofthemedicalcaptainssaidtheattackhadbeenputforwardanhour.Heofferedmeaglassofcognac.Ilookedattheboardtables,theinstrumentsshininginthelight,thebasinsandthestopperedbottles.Gordinistoodbehindme.Themajorgotupfromthetelephone.

           "Itstartsnow,"hesaid."Ithasbeenputbackagain."

           Ilookedoutside,itwasdarkandtheAustriansearch-lightsweremovingonthemountainsbehindus.Itwasquietforamomentstill,thenfromallthegunsbehindusthebombardmentstarted.

           "Savoia,"saidthemajor.

           "Aboutthesoup,major,"Isaid.Hedidnothearme.Irepeatedit.

           "Ithasn’tcomeup."

           Abigshellcameinandburstoutsideinthebrickyard.Anotherburstandinthenoiseyoucouldhearthesmallernoiseofthebrickanddirtrainingdown.

           "Whatistheretoeat?"

           "Wehavealittlepastaasciutta,"themajorsaid.

           "I’lltakewhatyoucangiveme."

           Themajorspoketoanorderlywhowentoutofsightinthebackandcamebackwithametalbasinofcoldcookedmacaroni.IhandedittoGordini.

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