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"The Luck of Thirteen Wanderings and Flight through Montenegro and Serbia"

Private
houses had suddenly become ministries; cafes, headquarters; and shops,
departmental offices. The square was the central automobile station, and
cars under repair or adjustment were in every corner. Beneath the church
paling a camp of waggoners had a large bonfire and were cooking a whole
sheep on a spit. Austrian prisoners with white, drawn faces were
wandering about, staring with half unseeing eyes; a Serbian soldier was
chewing a hard biscuit, and a prisoner crept up to him begging for a
corner of the bread; the soldier broke off a piece and gave it to him.
About the gate of the commandant's office were gathered Serbs and
Austrians all waiting for bread. We pushed our way in. The hay was
quickly arranged, but the bread was another matter.
"We have no bread," said the commandant.
"But," we objected, "all those men waiting outside. They would not come
here if you had no bread."
The commandant pulled his moustache.
"We have bread only for soldiers."
There was a sudden commotion outside.


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