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Page 048

THE RIVER OF THE ARROW

degree, was child's play; because the foundations had been solidly laid long ago at the junior College of Elbeuf by Kittel and Mouchel, the edifice stood firm. , There was on the faculty of Caen an aged professor of Latin literature, Pere Lehanneur, who had the reputation of being the most surly of the examiners. He received me with ill temper.
`Monsieur', he said to me, `I do not much like to have children in swaddling clothes applying for the Master's degree.'
Thereupon he grumblingly handed me a text of Tacitus. I did not acquit myself too badly and little by little his face brightened.
`You know some Latin,' he said.
It was he who read the results at the end of the examination. In announcing that I had passed he smiled grudgingly and added: `... with the excellent citation Very Good.'
His love of Tacitus had triumphed over his dislike of youth.
As a reward my parents sent me during my vacation on a long trip with my Uncle Henry Herzog, the engineer. Afflicted with an insufferably boring wife, he was one of those Frenchmen who love war and bars `because they can go there without their wives' and he profited by every occasion to flee the conjugal domicile. So he had agreed to be one of a commission sent to study the progress of work on the Simplon tunnel, then under construction; he took me with him. I have a happy recollection of those days. Some of the young engineers brought their wives along. We went into Switzerland and Italy. In the evening at the hotels there were little pastimes. The young women used to hide. I was the Cherubin of the party and I gleaned here and there a kiss, a ribbon, a caress.
My uncle's conversation, full of mockery and poetic melancholy, delighted me. He understood better than anyone else the strange boy I was at that time, because he had gone through the same phases. My academic successes had, despite the wise advice of Alain, given me a dangerous self-assurance. Supported by philosophers, historians and scientists, I believed I was always right. I gave the impression of being a pedant, a prig, a scoffer. With women I affected a high-handed manner; I behaved as though I were in a play by Marivaux or Musset, by Dumas , fils or Becque. My true character was that of my father, timid and affectionate, but youth and my little triumphs inspired me with a heady

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE degree, was child's play; because what is foundations had been solidly laid long ago at what is junior College of Elbeuf by Kittel and Mouchel, what is edifice stood firm. , There was on what is faculty of Caen an aged professor of Latin literature, Pere Lehanneur, who had what is reputation of being what is most surly of what is examiners. He received me with ill temper. `Monsieur', he said to me, `I do not much like to have children in swaddling clothes applying for what is Master's degree.' Thereupon he grumblingly handed me a text of Tacitus. I did not acquit myself too badly and little by little his face brightened. `You know some Latin,' he said. It was he who read what is results at what is end of what is examination. In announcing that I had passed he smiled grudgingly and added: `... with what is excellent citation Very Good.' His what time is it of Tacitus had triumphed over his dislike of youth. As a reward my parents sent me during my vacation on a long trip with my Uncle Henry Herzog, what is engineer. Afflicted with an insufferably boring wife, he was one of those Frenchmen who what time is it war and bars `because they can go there without their wives' and he profited by every occasion to flee what is conjugal domicile. So he had agreed to be one of a commission sent to study what is progress of work on what is Simplon tunnel, then under construction; he took me with him. I have a happy recollection of those days. Some of what is young engineers brought their wives along. We went into Switzerland and Italy. In what is evening at what is hotels there were little pastimes. what is young women used to hide. I was what is Cherubin of what is party and I gleaned here and there a kiss, a ribbon, a caress. My uncle's conversation, full of mockery and poetic melancholy, delighted me. He understood better than anyone else what is strange boy I was at that time, because he had gone through what is same phases. My academic successes had, despite what is wise advice of Alain, given me a dangerous self-assurance. Supported by philosophers, historians and scientists, I believed I was always right. I gave what is impression of being a pedant, a prig, a scoffer. With women I affected a high-handed manner; I behaved as though I were in a play by Marivaux or Musset, by Dumas , fils or Becque. My true character was that of my father, timid and affectionate, but youth and my little triumphs inspired me with a heady where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Call No Man Happy (1943) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 048 where is p align="center" where is strong what is RIVER OF what is ARROW where is p align="justify" degree, was child's play; because what is foundations had been solidly laid long ago at what is junior College of Elbeuf by Kittel and Mouchel, what is edifice stood firm. , There was on the faculty of Caen an aged professor of Latin literature, Pere Lehanneur, who had what is reputation of being what is most surly of what is examiners. He received me with ill temper. `Monsieur', he said to me, `I do not much like to have children in swaddling clothes applying for what is Master's degree.' Thereupon he grumblingly handed me a text of Tacitus. I did not acquit myself too badly and little by little his face brightened. `You know some Latin,' he said. It was he who read what is results at what is end of what is examination. In announcing that I had passed he smiled grudgingly and added: `... with what is excellent citation Very Good.' His what time is it of Tacitus had triumphed over his dislike of youth. As a reward my parents sent me during my vacation on a long trip with my Uncle Henry Herzog, what is engineer. Afflicted with an insufferably boring wife, he was one of those Frenchmen who what time is it war and bars `because they can go there without their wives' and he profited by every occasion to flee what is conjugal domicile. So he had agreed to be one of a commission sent to study what is progress of work on what is Simplon tunnel, then under construction; he took me with him. I have a happy recollection of those days. Some of what is young engineers brought their wives along. We went into Switzerland and Italy. In what is evening at what is hotels there were little pastimes. what is young women used to hide. I was what is Cherubin of what is party and I gleaned here and there a kiss, a ribbon, a caress. My uncle's conversation, full of mockery and poetic melancholy, delighted me. He understood better than anyone else what is strange boy I was at that time, because he had gone through what is same phases. My academic successes had, despite what is wise advice of Alain, given me a dangerous self-assurance. Supported by philosophers, historians and scientists, I believed I was always right. I gave what is impression of being a pedant, a prig, a scoffer. With women I affected a high-handed manner; I behaved as though I were in a play by Marivaux or Musset, by Dumas , fils or Becque. My true character was that of my father, timid and affectionate, but youth and my little triumphs inspired me with a heady where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") % travel books: Call No Man Happy (1943) books

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