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Having jerked out these last words as soldiers do and waved his

arms as if flinging something to the ground, the drummer-a lean,

handsome soldier of forty-looked sternly at the singers and

screwed up his eyes. Then having satisfied himself that all eyes

were fixed on him, he raised both arms as if carefully lifting

some invisible but precious object above his head and, holding it

there for some seconds, suddenly flung it down and began:

"Oh, my bower, oh, my bower...!"