Miss Wylie makes use of much of the usual stock-in-trade of the writer of war fiction, wome of which dates from pre-ware days. Child suicide, barrack-room brutality, duelling, Belgian atrocities, methods of re-population, all the outward manifestations of the spiritual poverty of Germany, are shown as the results of the Prussian System. But in spite of this rather thread-bare journalistic material the story has value on account of the picture it gives of the charm and simplicity of German home life, which any one who has lived in German must recognize.
uke paced up and down with the chief officials, like a general on parade. He was tall and greyhaired, with the remote and melancholy expression of a man forever playing a part which wearies and disgusts him. The grey military coat and spurred heels did not make him a soldier.
"I thank you, gentlemen," he said. The Herr Amtschreiber stood at the end of the row. He had forgotten to take off his overcoat and his soft hat was clutched convulsively in his right hand. The Staatszimmer was thick with a murky twilight, but through the long windows opposite he caught a glimpse of the square glittering in winter sunshine. The Grand Duke and his civilian staff moved against the light like faceless shadows. But the Herr Amtschreiber knew that they were looking at him staring at him as though he had been some strange animal. He knew that his colleagues were thinking of him with a mixture of gloating self-satisfaction and pity.
"Poor devil! Glad I'm not in his shoes." The Grand Duke, cap in hand, had reached
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