The men who hold the line—what their faces told of the past and the future of France.
II.
My Trip to Verdun—A Dying, Shell-Ridden City
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The Vauban Citadel, in the shelter of which falling shells cannot find you—houses and blocks that are vanishing hourly—“but William will not come”—war that is invisible—a luncheon underground with a toast to America—the last courtesy from a general and a host—nothing that was not beautiful.