And the other is Ferdinand Kokoška, who collects dog manure. One is a messenger at Průša’s, the chemist’s, and once by mistake he drank a bottle of hair oil there. ‘Which Ferdinand, Mrs Müller?’ he asked, going on with the massaging. Apart from this occupation he suffered from rheumatism and was at this very moment rubbing his knees with Elliman’s embrocation. Švejk, who had left military service years before, after having been finally certified by an army medical board as an imbecile, and now lived by selling dogs – ugly, mongrel monstrosities whose pedigrees he forged. ‘And so they’ve killed our Ferdinand,’ said the charwoman to Mr. The Good Soldier Švejk: and His Fortunes in the World War, to give it its full title, begins with the following passage:
0 kommentar(er)
