pijiaoyou1978

@@@@@There has been really no excuse for coming, but he continues to sit on the box because it is cooler here, and the odor of the latrine, the brine, the chlorine, the clammy bland smell of wet metal is less oppressive than the heavy sweating fetor of the troop holdsThe soldier remains for a long time, and then slowly he stands up, hoists his green fatigue pants, and thinks of the struggle to get back to his bunkHe knows he will lie there waiting for the dawn and he says to himself, I wish it was time already, I don't give a damn, I wish it was time alreadyAnd as he returns, he is thinking of an early morning in his childhood when he had lain awake because it was to be his birthday and his mother had promised him a party Early that evening Wilson and Gallagher and Staff Sergeant Croft had started a game of seven card stud with a couple of orderlies from headquarters platoonThey had grabbed the only empty place on the hold deck where it was possible to see the cards once the lights were turned offEven then they were forced to squint, for the only bulb still lit was a blue one near the ladder, and it was difficult to tell the red suits from the blackThey had been playing for hours, and by now they were in a partial stuporIf the hands were unimportant, the betting was automatic, almost unconscious Wilson's luck had been fair from the very beginning, but after one series in which he had taken three games in a row it had become phenomenalHe was feeling very goodThere was a stack of Australian pound notes scattered sloppily and extravagantly under his crossed legs, and while he felt it was bad luck to count his money, he knew he must have won nearly a hundred poundsIt gave him a thick lustful sensation in his throat, the kind of excitement he received from any form of abundance"Ah tell ya," he announced to Croft in his soft southern voice, "this kind of money is gonna be the ruination of me yetAh never will be able to figger out these goddam poundsThe Aussies work out everythin' backwards Croft gave no answerHe was losing a little, but, more annoying, his hands had been drab all night Gallagher grunted scornfully"What the hell! With your kind of luck you don't have to figure your moneyAll you need is an arm to pick it up with"That's right, boy, but it's gonna have to be a mighty powerful arm He laughed again with an easy, almost childish glee and began to dealHe was a big man about thirty years old with a fine mane of golden-brown hair, and a healthy ruddy face whose large features were formed cleanlyIncongruously, he wore a pair of round silver-rimmed glasses which gave him at first glance a studious or, at least, a methodical appeara