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Several distinguished officers were present at the festive board: Captain Montesquieu de Roquette, Sir Horace Vere, Captains St. Hilaire, Meetkerke, De Ryck, and others among them.
Martha Ryck rose at last, took off the covers of the stove, and made a fresh blaze which brightened all the room, and shot its glow far into the street. She went to the window to push the curtain carefully aside, stood a moment looking out into the night, stole softly to the door, unlocked it, then went upstairs to bed. The wind, rising suddenly that night, struck sharply through the city.
January 10, 1916, Lieutenant Ryck Boddike brought down his fourth enemy aeroplane, which fell into the open sea, and two days later he shot down his fifth, a British machine of the Farman type, killing one of the aviators and wounding the other. This aeroplane fell in such condition that it could be repaired by the Turks.
Several distinguished officers were present at the festive board: Captain Montesquieu de Roquette, Sir Horace Vere, Captains St. Hilaire, Meetkerke, De Ryck, and others among them.
Several distinguished officers were present at the festive board: Captain Montesquieu de Roquette, Sir Horace Vere, Captains St. Hilaire, Meetkerke, De Ryck, and others among them.
She used to love the dog, the child; she gave him his name in a frolic one day; he was always her playfellow; many a time they had come in and found her asleep with Muff's black, shaggy sides for a pillow, and her little pink arms around his neck, her face warm and bright with some happy dream. Mr. Ryck had often thought he would sell the creature; but he never had.
Ryck put a sudden stop to a series of gymnastic exercises commenced between them, by throwing the creature's hay down upon her horns; then he watered his horse, fed the sheep, took a look at the hens, and closed all the doors tightly; for the night was cold, so cold that he shivered, even under that great bottle-green coat of his: he was not a young man. "Pretty cold night, Muff!"
Yet I doubt if he liked the sound of that wind much better than the woman. He thrummed upon the window-sill, then turned sharply away. "There's a storm up, a cold one too." "It stormed when " But Mrs. Ryck did not finish her sentence. Her husband, coming back to his seat, tripped over a stool, a little thing it was, fit only for a child; a bit of dingy carpet covered it: once it had been bright.
He could not forget it, though he might own no fathership to the wanderer. Amos Ryck was a respectable man; he had the reputation of an honest, pious farmer to maintain. Moreover, he was a deacon in the church. His own life, stern in its purity, could brook no tenderness toward offenders. His own child was as shut out from his forgiveness as he deemed her to be from the forgiveness of his God.
Amos Ryck was not an unkind husband, but it was not his way to be tender; the years which had whitened his hair had brought him stern experiences: life was to him a battle, his horizon always that about a combatant. But he loved her. "Most ready to sit down, Martha?" he said at last, more gently. "In a minute, Amos." She finished some bit of evening work, her step soft about the room.
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