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Pistol-ball shot through the sternocleido muscle of one side of the neck, emerging through the corresponding muscle of the other side of the neck. Sabre-thrust between the bones of the left forearm. Pistol-shot through the left pectoralis major and left deltoid muscles. Deep cut dividing the commissure between the left thumb and forefinger down to the carpal bones.
Sabre-thrust between the bones in the middle third of the right forearm. Shot in the right thigh, the ball passing through the middle third. A sword-cut across the spinal muscles covering the lower dorsal vertebrae. Tortured by guerillas in Indian fashion by having burning splinters of wood applied to the surface of his right thorax.
He appeared before a pension board in New York, June 29, 1865, with the following history: In 1862 he suffered a sabre-cut across the quadriceps extensor of the left thigh, and a sabre-thrust between the bones of the forearm at the middle third. Soon afterward at Williamsburg, Va., he was shot in the thigh, the ball passing through the middle third external to the femur.
"It is a relic of Sainte Solange, the patron saint of Berry," she said, "I saved it during the Revolution; wear it on your breast to-morrow." "Will it protect me from a sabre-thrust?" asked Philippe. "Yes," replied the old lady. "Then I have no right to wear that accoutrement any more than if it were a cuirass," cried Agathe's son. "What does he mean?" said Madame Hochon.
"The Marquis de Sairmeuse was so truly our leader," exclaimed the daring peasant, "that he was wounded by a sabre-thrust while fighting by my side." The face of the duke was more purple than that of a man struck with apoplexy; and his fury almost deprived him of the power of speech. "You lie, scoundrel! you lie!" he gasped.
"It is a relic of Sainte Solange, the patron saint of Berry," she said, "I saved it during the Revolution; wear it on your breast to-morrow." "Will it protect me from a sabre-thrust?" asked Philippe. "Yes," replied the old lady. "Then I have no right to wear that accoutrement any more than if it were a cuirass," cried Agathe's son. "What does he mean?" said Madame Hochon.
"A professional man can admit only a plain woman into his life. The other kind is too distracting, since he must think of his career." Nick cut in upon the words with the suddenness of a sabre-thrust. "Oh, we all say that till we meet the right woman, and then, be she lovely or hideous, the career bobs under like a float and ceases to count." Max grunted. "Does it? Well, you ought to know."
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