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Updated: June 29, 2025
Sorely battered, but still defiant like their chief, the Prussian cavalry covered the retreat at the centre; the wings fell back in good order, the right holding on to the village of Bry till past midnight; but several battalions of disaffected troops broke up and did not rejoin their comrades. About 14,000 Prussians and 11,000 French lay dead or wounded on that fatal field.
As this might apply to almost any kind of apes, I should have thought little of it, had not the brothers De Bry, whose engravings illustrate the work, thought fit, in their eleventh 'Argumentum, to figure two of these "Simiae magnatum deliciae."
"Mr. Bry is the least short-sighted man I know. That's why he always wears an eyeglass." "To create an illusion?" "Who knows?" She looked down the long room. Between the heads of innumerable men and women she could see Miss Schley. Her husband was hidden. She would have preferred to see him. Miss Schley's head was by no means expressive of the naked truth.
At a short distance from Rastadt they were stopped by some Austrian hussars, who, having satisfied themselves as to their names and titles, assassinated them: Bonnier and Roberjot were killed, Jean de Bry was left for dead. This unheard-of violation of the right of nations, this premeditated assassination of three men invested with a sacred character, excited general horror.
"My name, says the angel whose quarter is eastward, and stands as first, is HOLY ASSAN' DE LA JAH'. The second, whose part is second, and quarter westward, is MI'CHAEL VAN' CE VA' NE. The third, whose part is third, and quarter northward, is GA' BRY VEN' DO VAS' TER REEN'. The fourth, whose part is fourth, and quarter southward, is VEN DEN' DE PA' ROL JEW' LE JAH'.
I wish to Heaven we knew. Well, Robin?" "Of course, Mr. Bry." Carey's violent face expressed disgust in every line. "One of the most finished of London types," he exclaimed. "No other city supplies quite the same sort of man to take the colour out of things. He's enormously clever, enormously abominable, and should have been strangled at birth merely because of his feet.
Embarked in two of those antiquated craft whose high poops and tub-like porportions are preserved in the old engravings of De Bry, they sailed from Havre on the eighteenth of February, 1562. They crossed the Atlantic, and on the thirtieth of April, in the latitude of twenty-nine and a half degrees, saw the long, low line where the wilderness of waves met the wilderness of woods.
Miss Bart had lingered for a last word with Lord Hubert, and Stepney, on whom Mr. Bry was pressing a final, and still more expensive, cigar, called out: "Come on, Lily, if you're going back to the yacht." Lily turned to obey; but as she did so, Mrs. Dorset, who had paused on her way out, moved a few steps back toward the table.
"It's most awfully jolly having Miss Bart back," said Lord Hubert, in his mild deliberate voice; and Mrs. Bry added ingenuously: "I daresay the Duchess will dine with us, now that Lily's here."
She could not acquire the air of doing things because she wanted to, and making her choice the final seal of their fitness. Mr. Bry, a short pale man, with a business face and leisure clothes, met the dilemma hilariously. "I guess the Duchess goes where it's cheapest, unless she can get her meal paid for. If you offered to blow her off at the TERRASSE she'd turn up fast enough." But Mrs.
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