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LONG the oldRoman road that crosses the rolling hills from theupper waters of the Marne to the Meuse, a soldier ofFrance was passing in the night.
In the broader pools of summer moonlight he showedas a hale and husky fellow of about thirty years, withdark hair and eyes and a handsome, downcast face. Hisuniform was faded and dusty; not a trace of thehorizon-blue was left; only a gray shadow. He had noknapsack on his back, no gun on his shoulder. Wearily
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