“A little while ago a division started marching on Paris.... And when I was in Verdun.... O there will be a revolution.... France is the country of revolutions.”
“We'll always be here to shoot you down,” said Eisenstein.
“Wait till you've been in the war a little while. A winter in the trenches will make any army ready for revolution.”
“But we have no way of learning the truth. And in the tyranny of the army a man becomes a brute, a piece of machinery. Remember you are freer than we are. We are worse than the Russians!”
“It is curious!... O but you must have some feeling of civilization. I have always heard that Americans were free and independent. Will they let themselves be driven to the slaughter always?”
“O I don't know.” Eisenstein got to his feet. “We'd better be getting to barracks. Coming, Fuselli?” he said.
“Guess so,” said Fuselli indifferently, without getting up.
Eisenstein and the Frenchman went out into the shop.
“Bon swar,” said Fuselli, softly, leaning across the table. “Hey, girlie?”
He threw himself on his belly on the wide table and put his arms round her neck and kissed her, feeling everything go blank in a flame of desire.