“What the hell? Who's Antoine? Gee whiz, I bet that's hot stuff. I wish I could read French. We'll have you breakin' loose out o' here an' going down to number four, roo Villiay, if you read that kind o' book.” “Has it got pictures?” asked Applebaum. “One feller did break out o' here a month ago,... Couldn't stand it any longer, I guess. Well, his wound opened an' he had a hemorrhage, an' now he's planted out in the back lot.... But I'm goin'. Goodnight.” The orderly bustled to the end of the ward and disappeared. The lights went out, except for the bulb over the nurse's desk at the end, beside the ornate doorway, with its wreathed pinnacles carved out of the grey stone, which could be seen above the white canvas screen that hid the door. “What's that book about, buddy?” asked Applebaum, twisting his head at the end of his lean neck so as to look Andrews full in the face. “Oh, it's about a man who wants everything so badly that he decides there's nothing worth wanting.” “I guess youse had a college edication,” said Applebaum sarcastically. Andrews laughed. “Well, I was goin' to tell youse about when I used to drive a taxi. I was makin' big money when I enlisted. Was you drafted?” “Yes.” “Well, so was I. I doan think nauthin o' them guys that are so stuck up 'cause they enlisted, d'you?” “Not a hell of a lot.” “Don't yer?” came a voice from the other side of Andrews, a thin voice that stuttered. “W-w-well, all I can say is, it'ld have sss-spoiled my business if I hadn't enlisted. No, sir, nobody can say I didn't enlist.” “Well, that's your look-out,” said Applebaum. “You're goddam right, it was.” “Well, ain't your business spoiled anyway?” “No, sir. I can pick it right up where I left off. I've got an established reputation.” “What at?” “I'm an undertaker by profession; my dad was before me.” “Gee, you were right at home!” said Andrews. “You haven't any right to say that, young feller,” said the undertaker angrily. “I'm a humane man. I won't never be at home in this dirty butchery.” The nurse was walking by their cots. “How can you say such dreadful things?” she said. “But lights are out. You boys have got to keep quiet.... And you,” she plucked at the undertaker's bedclothes, “just remember what the Huns did in Belgium.... Poor Miss Cavell, a nurse just like I am.”