Then the body had no powers of resistance left. One after another the members of the little community in our hut died.
Each of us could calculate with fair accuracy whose turn would be next, and when his own would come.
After many observations we knew the symptoms well, which made the correctness of our prognoses quite certain.
“He won’t last long,” or, “This is the next one,” we whispered to each other,
and when, during our daily search for lice, we saw our own naked bodies in the evening,
we thought alike: This body here, my body, is really a corpse already.
What has become of me? I am but a small portion of a great mass of human flesh... of a mass behind barbed wire, crowded into a few earthen huts;
a mass of which daily a certain portion begins to rot because it has become lifeless.
I mentioned above how unavoidable were the thoughts about food and favorite dishes
which forced themselves into the consciousness of the prisoner, whenever he had a moment to spare.
Perhaps it can be understood, then, that even the strongest of us was longing for the time when he would have fairly good food again,
not for the sake of good food itself, but for the sake of knowing that the sub-human existence,
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