For the last seven years of his life Marshal Ferdinand Foch with his pincenez perched on his nose, sat in his little office in the top of the Hotel des Invalides covering long sheets of foolscap with his precise schoolmaster's handwriting. He was writing his memoirs. Historians and editors who hoped that these piles of paper might help solve the problem of War Guilt, define the exact value of U. S. troops in the victory, state the real contribution of the Commander-in-Chief, chafed at the...
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