Then Loerke rattled the box which held the biscuits.
'Biscuits there are still,' he said.
And reaching from his seated posture in the sledge, he handed them to
Gudrun. She fumbled, and took one. He would have held them to Gerald,
but Gerald so definitely did not want to be offered a biscuit, that
Loerke, rather vaguely, put the box aside. Then he took up the small
bottle, and held it to the light.
'Also there is some Schnapps,' he said to himself.
Then suddenly, he elevated the battle gallantly in the air, a strange,
grotesque figure leaning towards Gudrun, and said:
'Gnadiges Fraulein,' he said, 'wohl--'
There was a crack, the bottle was flying, Loerke had started back, the
three stood quivering in violent emotion.
Loerke turned to Gerald, a devilish leer on his bright-skinned face.
'Well done!' he said, in a satirical demoniac frenzy. 'C'est le sport,
sans doute.'
The next instant he was sitting ludicrously in the snow, Gerald's fist
having rung against the side of his head.
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