The pigs did not actually work, but directed and supervised the others.
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7 October 1915. Standing at dawn on the fire-step-opposite our dugout next to the sentry when a rifle bullet ripped through his forage cap without harming a hair on his head.
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The absurd man thus catches sight of a burning and frigid, transparent and limited universe in which nothing is possible but everything is given, and beyond which all is collapse and nothingness.
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