“This type is not an English officer. He likes the Germans.”
“You exaggerate. An old man like that! I would have sat with him myself.”
“Ah! So you say. I will not believe it.”
“No? When you are a soldier you do not call the Bosche ‘the filthy Bosche.’ That is for the women, the civilians.”
“You are mad. They are filthy. They are beasts like those in Spain who violated nuns and murdered priests.”
“But, my little one, you forget that there were many of Hitler’s Bosches who fought against the Reds in Spain. You forget. You are not logical.”
“They are not the same as those who attack France. They were Catholic Germans.”
“You are ridiculous! Was I not hit in the guts by a bullet fired by a Bavarian Catholic in ‘seventeen? You make me tired. You are ridiculous. Be silent.”
“No, it is you who …”
They went on. Graham heard little more. Before he could make up his mind to cough loudly, he was asleep.