Jews are peddling things with American trade-marks on them,
because in a day or two it's Christmas I suppose. Jesus it is cold. Dirty
snow. Huddling people. _La guerre._ Always _la guerre_. And chill. Goes
through these big mittens. To-morrow I shall be on the ocean. Pretty neat
the way that passport was put through. Rode all day in a taxi, two
cylinders, running on one. Everywhere waiting lines. I stepped to the
head and was attended to by the officials of the great and good French
Government. Gad that's a good one. A good one on _le gouvernement
francais_. Pretty good. _Les rues sont tristes._ Perhaps there's no
Christmas, perhaps the French Government has forbidden Christmas. Clerk
at Norton-Harjes seemed astonished to see me. O God it is cold in Paris.
Everyone looks hard under lamplight, because it's winter I suppose.
Everyone hurried. Everyone hard. Everyone cold. Everyone huddling.
Everyone alive; alive: alive.
Shall I give this man five francs for dressing my hand? He said "anything
you like, monsieur." Ship's doctor's probably well-paid. Probably not.
Better hurry before I put my lunch. Awe-inspiring stink, because it's in
the bow. Little member of the crew immersing his guess-what in a can of
some liquid or other, groaning from time to time, staggers when the boat
tilts.
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