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Updated: May 21, 2025
"There are many splendid women in France but you don't see them the poor are too wonderful, they lose their nearest and dearest and never complain, they only say it is 'la Guerre!." "Have you any near relations fighting?" "Yes" It was too stupid having to drag information out of her like this I gave it up and then I was haunted by the desire to know what relations they were?
But suddenly the wife Bertrande appeared before the magistrates of Rieux, and lodged a complaint against her husband, praying "that he might be condemned to make satisfaction to the king for a breach of his laws; to demand pardon of God, the king, and herself, in his shirt, with a lighted torch in his hand; declaring that he had falsely, rashly, and traitorously imposed upon her in assuming the name and passing himself upon her for Martin Guerre."
Kid, Boy, I'd like to tell you: la guerre est finie. O yes, Jean: I do not forget, I remember Plenty; the snow's coming, the snow will throw again a very big and gentle shadow into The Enormous Room and into the eyes of you and me walking always and wonderfully up and down.... It must have been late in November when la commission arrived.
The best is to put my cane between my legs and rest my chin on it; but even that is uncomfortable, for the Englishman has writhed all over me by this time and is snoring creditably. I look him over; an Etonian, as I guess. Certain well-bred-well-fedness. Except for the position well, c'est la guerre. The women are speaking softly. "And do you know, my dear, that they had raids again in Paris?
"Cheerioh!" toasted I, raising my glass. "Happy days!" "I'm determined to be able to say, Rupert, whatever happens: 'Never mind, I had a good time while it lasted!" "I'm with you," said I, who was now nearly as flushed as he. "Let's be in everything up to the neck." "Surely," Doe endorsed. "C'est la guerre!"
I sat in the background and watched the men come in many of them with the Croix de Guerre, the Croix de la Legion d'Honneur, or the Medaille Militaire pinned on their faded jackets. I listened to brief definite instructions of Madame Balli, who may have the sweetest smile in the world, but who knows what she wants people to do and invariably makes them do it.
Drake simply gives the impression that the quarrel between Osceola and Thompson was over the old matter of emigration, saying , "Remonstrance soon grew into altercation, which ended in a ruse de guerre, by which Osceola was made prisoner by the agent, and put in irons, in which situation he was kept one night and part of two days." The story is told by McMaster, however.
On January 8 a parade was called to present General Stephanik with the Legion of Honour and Major-General Knox, the Chief of the British Military Mission, and myself with the Croix de Guerre. It was a real Siberian day, "62 below," and in five minutes ten men had frost-bitten ears.
Suddenly the keeper passed them at a trot. "Who'm they to combe-bottom for Lard's sake? Master'll be crazy," he said. "Poachers simly," Stalky replied in the broad Devon that was the boy's langue de guerre. "I'll poach 'em to raights!" He dropped into the funnel-like combe, which presently began to fill with noises, notably King's voice crying: "Go on, Sergeant! Leave him alone, you, sir.
The number of dead lying before the lines is variously given at from eight hundred to three thousand. Montcalm himself, who was somewhat elated by his victory, gives this last number in one of his letters, though he elsewhere says two thousand; while Lévis, in his Journal de la Guerre, says "about eight hundred."
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