He was a very slim, very elegant young man, with the grace and
courtesy of the _ancien regime_ which his name evoked, and the
perfection of his manners and gentleness seemed to lend convincing power
to all he said. Guynemer being missing and Heurtaux wounded, the Storks
were now commanded by Lieutenant Raymond. He belonged to the cavalry, a
tall, thin man, with the sharp face and heroic bearing of Don Quixote, a
kindly man with a roughness of manner and a quick, picturesque way of
expressing himself. Deullin was there, too, one of Guynemer's oldest and
most devoted friends. Last of all descended from the high regions
_sous-lieutenant_ Bozon-Verduraz, a rather heavy man with a serious
face, and more maturity than belonged to his years, an unassuming young
man with a hatred for exaggeration and a deep respect for the truth.
Once more he went through every detail of the fatal day for me, each
particular anticipating the dread issue. But in spite of this narrative,
full of the idea of death, I could not think of Guynemer as dead and
lying somewhere under the ground held by the enemy.
Pages:
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282