I put my Saint Anthony back in the capsule, spilled the thin gold chain together and put it all in my breast pocket. “You don’t wear him?” “No.” “It’s better to wear him. That’s what it’s for.” “All right,” I said. I undid the clasp of the gold chain and put it around my neck and clasped it. The saint hung down on the outside of my uniform and I undid the throat of my tunic, unbuttoned the shirt collar and dropped him in under the shirt. I felt him in his metal box against my chest while we drove. Then I forgot about him. After I was wounded I never found him. Some one probably got it at one
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