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Updated: June 28, 2025
"Oddslife," he growled, "if to have me waylaid, dragged from my horse and wounded by those sons of dogs, your myrmidons, be your manner of expressing gratitude, I'd as lief you had let me go unthanked." "And yet, Cris, I dare swear you'll thank me before another hour is sped. Ough, man, how cold you are! There's a bottle of strong waters yonder "
I used to sit under it and have a glass of vin cris de Lorraine with the old people.... Over there, where that cinder-heap is, all their children are buried." He walked across to the grave-yard under a blackened wall a bit of the apse of the vanished church and sat down on a grave-stone. "If the devils have done this here so close to us," he burst out, and covered his face.
And at half-past five, while the fighting was still going on, the punitive burning of the town began, by a cyclist section told off for the work and furnished with every means for doing it effectively. These men, according to an eyewitness, did their work with wild shouts "cris sauvages." A hundred and seventeen houses were soon burning fiercely.
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