Monday, June 30, 2008

On The Line by Harvey Swados (Bantam Books 1957)

Stung bitterly, Orrin shot back, "Sure. you probably can't even remember getting hit. You were probably in a drunken fog."

There was an awful silence. Most of them knew that Harold was a drunkard - he had volunteered the information himself in a detached, almost scientific way - but for that very reason no one before had ever dared to mention it aloud.

Harold said cooly, "As a matter of fact, I was cold sober when I earned my Purple Heart. I got sprayed in the ass on Guadalcanal, bending over to pick up a bobby-trapped bottle of Jap beer." When the laughter subsided he added, "But I'm going to be forty years old come my next birthday, and I've got more to think about than that stuff that nicked me way the hell and gone back in 'forty-four."

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