Read "Memoirs of the Foreign Legion" by Maurice Magnus online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
NEXT morning I rose early and for the last time put on those vile disinfected rags. I bought a ready-made suit, which I ordered to be altered to fit me and be sent to my hotel by 11 a.m. Then a shoe shop, the Bon Marché for shirts, collars, ties and gloves, a hat shop, and by twelve o'clock the transformation had taken place. I was in civilian clothes and felt again like a decent human being, who had a right to go wherever he chose without being subject to insult. I packed, paid my bill, had a taxi called, and departed for the Gare St. Lazare. But on my way through the Rue Auber I apparently changed my mind, and ordered the driver to take me to an hotel in the Rue de Rivoli, where I was well known. Having arrived I paid him, and saw him drive off. So much of any trace of having worn a uniform was behind me.
At the hotel I asked for a friend of mine, who always lived there, and who I knew had just sailed for America.