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Mass Market Paperback
Published January 1, 1951
"How's this, Alaric?" asked Nebbice. "Listen: 'I like Oxydol because it is delicious with some kind of canned or fresh fruit.'"
"That's eleven words," said Alaric. "How's this? 'I like Oxydol because of the finespun yet potent gossamer of its faerie suds.'"
"That's beautiful, Alaric," said Nebbice.
"The mores of your civilian life have been stripped away; your set of values has been altered. Take your speech, for instance. You have become so used to profanity that it is now second nature to you."
"Fudge," I said. "Land o'Goshen, heck, tarnation, crim-a-nentlies."
"Not only profanity has crept into your speech," she said, "but also the peculiar jargon of the Army."
"Snafu," I said, "tarfu, fubar and weft."*
"And ... it is true that you have been made into a killer. You have been taught cruelty."
I pulled the wings off a fly.
"But at the same time," she said, "you have learned to protect and rescue your comrades, to minister to the wounded. You have been taight compassion."
I put the wings back on the fly.