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Updated: May 1, 2025
Instead, he walked with the bent-kneed swing of the French infantryman, that tireless but awkward marching step which renders the French Army so mobile. He carried all the impedimenta of a man going into the trenches, an extra jar of water, a flat loaf of bread strapped to his haversack, and an intrenching tool jingling at his belt.
The jam crew were forced continually to alter their positions, riding the changing timbers bent-kneed, as a circus rider treads his four galloping horses. Then all at once down by the face something crashed. The entire stream became alive. It hissed and roared, it shrieked, groaned and grumbled.
He would consort with people for the mere pleasure of social life with them. The one thing I did not like about him was his small mouth ... but then I did not like my own mouth ... it was large, sensual, loose and cruel. And his walk ... it was almost dainty mincing. But then my walk was a loose, bent-kneed method of progression....
His curious, bent-kneed, slouching step, so carefully taught him so different from the stately progress of the British, for instance, but so effective in covering ground his loose trousers and huge pack, all conspire against the ensemble effect of French soldiers on the march. I have seen British regiments at ease, British soldiers at rest and in their billets.
Her pupils dilated and she lowered her voice: "He's ornery Pete Mullendore." As though in response to his name, that person came around the corner with his bent-kneed slouch, giving to the girl as he passed a look so malignant, and holding so unmistakable a threat, that it chilled and sobered the stranger who stood leaning against the water barrel.
Instead, I drove past her house with that curious, bent-kneed walk of mine, and I walked and walked, not heeding the cold, till the ocean shouldered, phosphorescent, in the enormous night toward me. Home again, I slept like a drunkard. It was broad day when I woke.
This was the real thing. My friend uttered a wild yell of applause which was lost in a general roar. A long pike-pole shot out, bit the end of the timber, and towed it to the boom pile. Another man stepped on the log with Darrell. They stood facing each other, bent-kneed, alert. Suddenly with one accord they commenced to birl the log from left to right. The pace grew hot.
Henri smiled: an ugly smile. "A good guess," he said to himself. "But it must be more than a guess." His work for the afternoon was done. Still with the bent-kneed swing he struck back to the road, and avoiding the crossroads, went across more fields to a lane where Jean waited with the car.
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