Word: mes
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...Plebe Woods lived mostly in a braced position, turned all his corners sharply, rose ten minutes earlier (at 5:50) than upperclassmen and studied each evening until 10:30, sat on the front half of his chair at mess, called out the minutes before assembly, walked sentry duty, ran mes sages, carried mail. And always he stood ready to reel off the prescribed answers to upperclassmen's badgering questions...
...heavily mascaraed, accepted the honor as an inevitable tribute to France's foremost woman writer. She breezed to the Goncourt election luncheon in a big black car. She hobbled with arthritic grace across the sidewalk through a lane of admirers and fellow Academicians. To flashbulbing cameramen she cried: "Mes enfants, you are ridiculous! You are machine-gunning me!" Archly she posed her frizzled, felt-hatted, grey head and pointed her sandaled, red-toenailed feet. What had she done during the occupation? "Mes enfants, I did the same thing as the last 15 years: nothing. I didn't budge...
What would she do now? "But, mes enfants, what projects would you want me to have? I should like to love ... to live a little ... to have flowers . . . strawberries ... to live in a more tranquil universe...
...Nazis found few collaborators among French scientists But one great name, Alexis Carrel, has become anathema to Langevin and other resisters. Throughout the occupation Carrel had plenty of money for research under the big Fondation Franfaise Pour L'Etude Des Probleèmes Humains, created for him by Vichy. Last week Carrel declared that his foundation had concerned itself exclusively with scientific studies inspired by his Man the Unknown. But top-rank scientists charged that the foundation had a distinctly pro-Nazi tinge, that its subsidized sociological studies had served as a front for researches in "racism." After Paris...
...tried twice to get into Caen before the city fell and ran into a curtain of artillery fire both times-first in the British sector, later in the Canadian. ... Then along came two Frenchmen as unconcerned as if they were on a walking tour. 'Oh, no, mes amis, the Boche are not shelling.' So into the jeep we got and headed again for Caen...