PLANTIN
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14 POINT PLANTIN LIGHT ITALIC AND BOLD
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ$£ 1234567890
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ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ$£1234567890
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12 POINT PLANTIN LIGHT ITALIC AND BOLD
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11 POINT PLANTIN LIGHT ITALIC AND BOLD
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10 POINT PLANTIN LIGHT ITALIC AND BOLD
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9 POINT PLANTIN LIGHT ITALIC AND BOLD
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8 POINT PLANTIN LIGHT ITALIC AND BOLD
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ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ$£I234567890abcdefglnjklmnopqrstuvwxyzfifl.,-‘’;:()ÆŒce?&-
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ$£1234567890abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzfifl.,-”;:OÆ.Œœ?&-
7 POINT PANTIN LIGHT ITALIC AND BOLD
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ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ$£1234567890abcdefghijklmiwpqrsluvwxyzfifl.,-";:()ÆŒœ?&-
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ$£1234567890abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzfifl.,*";:()Æ,Œœ?&-
6 POINT PANTIN LIGHT ITALIC AND BOLD
PICAS
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
10 POINT
16
19
22
24
27
30
33
35
38
41
43
46
49
52
54
57
60
63
65
68
71
73
76
79
82
11 POINT
15
17
20
22
25
27
30
32
35
37
40
42
45
47
50
52
55
57
59
62
64
67
69
72
74
160
PLANTIN
SOLID
6/6 PT Immediately after lunch I returned to the Luxembourg, and soon I saw my friend giving his arm
with old-world politeness to a tiny little old lady in black, to whom I was introduced. It was La
Castris, the famous ballerina, toast of princes, favourite of the King, idol of all that courtly age,
which seems to have left behind a haunting perfume of gallantry in the world.
We sat down on a bench; it was May. The scent of flowers was wafted along the trim walks;
the cheerful sunshine streamed through the leaves, splashing us with pools of light. La Castris’
black dress seemed drenched with liquid gold.
The garden was deserted; the rumble of traffic could'be heard in the distance.
‘Could you explain to me’, I asked the old dancer, ‘what the Minuet was like?’
He started. ‘The Minuet, Sir, is the queen of dances and the dance of queens, if you
understand me. Now that Kings are no more, the Minuet has disappeared.’
Then in stilted language he began a long, extravagantly enthusiastic panegyric, which was
quite incomprehensible. I wanted him to describe the steps with every figure and gesture. But he
got hopelessly mixed, nervously exasperated at his own inability, till he gave it up.
Suddenly, turning to his aged companion, who had remained gravely silent, he said: ‘Élise, I
wonder if you would - it would be so sweet of you - would you be willing to show this gentleman
what it was by dancing it with me?
She looked all round anxiously, rose without a word and took up her position facing him.
Then I witnessed a sight I shall never forget. They advanced and retired with childish
ceremoniousness, smiled, swayed, bowed, skipped, like two old-fashioned dolls, set in motion by
an antiquated mechanism, now slightly defective, constructed long ago by some master-craftsman
after the mode of his day. I looked on with conflicting emotions, an indefinable sadness in my
heart; it was as if I were the spectator of a scene at once pathetic and ridiculous, the ghostly
SOLID
7/7 PT Immediately after lunch I returned to the Luxembourg, and soon I saw my friend
giving his arm with old-world politeness to a tiny little old lady in black, to whom I
was introduced. It was La Castris, the famous ballerina, toast of princes, favourite of
the King, idol of all that courtly age, which seems to have left behind a haunting
perfume of gallantry in the world.
We sat down on a bench; it was May. The scent of flowers was wafted along the
trim walks; the cheerful sunshine streamed through the leaves, splashing us with
pools of light. La Castris’ black dress seemed drenched with liquid gold.
The garden was deserted; the rumble of traffic could be heard in the distance.
‘Could you explain to me’, I asked the old dancer, ‘what the Minuet was like?’
He started. ‘The Minuet, Sir, is the queen of dances and the dance of queens, if
you understand me. Now that Kings are no more, the Minuet has disappeared.’
Then in stilted language he began a long, extravagantly enthusiastic panegyric,
which was quite incomprehensible. I wanted him to describe the steps with every
figure and gesture. But he got hopelessly mixed, nervously exasperated at his own
inability, till he gave it up.
Suddenly, turning to his aged companion, who had remained gravely silent, he
said: ‘Élise, I wonder if you would - it would be so sweet of you - would you be
willing to show this gentleman what it was by dancing it with me?
2PT LEADED
6/8 PT Immediately after lunch I returned to the Luxembourg, and soon I saw my friend giving his arm 7/9 PT
with old-world politeness to a tiny little old lady in black, to whom I was introduced. It was La
Castris, the famous ballerina, toast of princes, favourite of the King, idol of all that courtly age,
which seems to have left behind a haunting perfume of gallantry in the world.
We sat down on a bench; it was May. The scent of flowers was wafted along the trim walks;
the cheerful sunshine streamed through the leaves, splashing us with pools of light. La Castris’
black dress seemed drenched with liquid gold.
The garden was deserted; the rumble of traffic could be heard in the distance.
‘Could you explain to me’, I asked the old dancer, ‘what the Minuet was like?’
He started. ‘The Minuet, Sir, is the queen of dances and the dance of queens, if you
understand me. Now that Kings are no more, the Minuet has disappeared.’
Then in stilted language he began a long, extravagantly enthusiastic panegyric, which was
quite incomprehensible. I wanted him to describe the steps with every figure and gesture. But he
got hopelessly mixed, nervously exasperated at his own inability, till he gave it up.
Suddenly, turning to his aged companion, who had remained gravely silent, he said: ‘Élise, I
wonder if you would - it would be so sweet of you - would you be willing to show this gentleman
what it was by dancing it with me?
• 2PT LEADED
Immediately after lunch I returned to the Luxembourg, and soon I saw my friend
giving his arm with old-world politeness to a tiny little old lady in black, to whom I
was introduced. It was La Castris, the famous ballerina, toast of princes, favourite of
the King, idol of all that courtly age, which seems to have left behind a haunting
perfume of gallantry in the world.
We sat down on a bench; it was May. The scent of flowers was wafted along the
trim walks; the cheerful sunshine streamed through the leaves, splashing us with
pools of light. La Castris’ black dress seemed drenched with liquid gold.
The garden was deserted; the rumble of traffic could be heard in the distance.
‘Could you explain to me’, I asked the old dancer, ‘what the Minuet was like?’
He started. ‘The Minuet, Sir, is the queen of dances and the dance of queens, if
you understand me. Now that Kings are no more, the Minuet has disappeared.’
Then in stilted language he began a long, extravagantly enthusiastic panegyric,
which was quite incomprehensible. I wanted him to describe the steps with every
figure and gesture. But he got hopelessly mixed, nervously exasperated at his own
4PT LEADED
6/10 PT Immediately after lunch I relumed to the Luxembourg, and soon I saw my friend giving his arm
with old-world politeness to a tiny little old lady in black, to whom I was introduced. It was La
Castris, the famous ballerina, toast of princes, favourite of the King, idol of all that courtly age.
which seems to have left behind a haunting perfume of gallantry in the world.
We sat down on a bench; it was May. The scent of flowers was wafted along the trim walks;
the cheerful sunshine streamed through the leaves, splashing us with pools of light. La Castris’
black dress seemed drenched with liquid gold.
The garden was deserted; the rumble of traffic could be heard in the distance.
‘Could you explain to me’, I asked the old dancer, ‘what the Minuet was like?’
He started. ‘The Minuet, Sir, is the queen of dances and the dance of queens, if you
understand me. Now that Kings are no more, the Minuet has disappeared.’
Then in stilted language he began a long, extravagantly enthusiastic panegyric, which was
quite incomprehensible. I wanted him to describe the steps with every figure and gesture. But he
got hopelessly mixed, nervously exasperated at his own inability, till he gave it up.
4PT LEADED
7/11 PT Immediately after lunch I returned to the Luxembourg, and soon I saw my friend
giving his arm with old-world politeness to a tiny little old lady in black, to whom I
was introduced. It was La Castris, the famous ballerina, toast of princes, favourite of
the King, idol of all that courtly age, which seems to have left behind a haunting
perfume of gallantry in the world.
We sat down on a bench; it was May. The scent of flowers was wafted along the
trim walks; the cheerful sunshine streamed through the leaves, splashing us with
pools of light. La Castris’ black dress seemed drenched with liquid gold.
The garden was deserted; the rumble of traffic could be heard in the distance.
‘Could you explain to me’, I asked the old dancer, ‘what the Minuet was like?’
He started. ‘The Minuet, Sir, is the queen of dances and the dance of queens, if
you understand me. Now that Kings are no more, the Minuet has disappeared.’
Then in stilted language he began a long, extravagantly enthusiastic panegyric,
4PT LEADED, CONDENSED TO THE CHARACTER WIDTH OF 5PT
6/10 PT Immediately after lunch I returned to the Luxembourg, and soon I saw my friend giving his arm with old-world
politeness to a tiny little old lady in black, to whom I was introduced. It was La Castris, the famous ballerina, toast of
princes, favourite of the King, idol of all that courtly age. which seems to have left behind a haunting perfume of
gallantry in the world.
We sat down on a bench; it was May. The scent of flowers was wafted along the trim walks; the cheerful sunshine
streamed through the leaves, splashing us with pools of light. La Castris’ black dress seemed drenched with liquid gold.
The ganden was deserted; the rumble of traffic could be heand in the distance.
‘Could you explain to me’, I asked the old dancer, ‘what the Minuet was like?’
He started. ‘The Minuet, Sir, is the queen of dances and the dance of queens, if you understand me. Now- that
Kings are no more, the Minuet has disappeared.’
Then in stilted language he began a long, extravagantly enthusiastic panegyric, which was quite incomprehensi¬
ble. I wanted him to describe the steps with every figure and gesture. But he got hopelessly mixed, nervously
exasperated at his own inability, till he gave it up.
Suddenly, turning to his aged companion, who had remained gravely silent, he said: ‘Élise, I wonder if you would
The Minuet Guy De Maupassant
4PT LEADED, CONDENSED TO THE CHARACTER WIDTH OF 6PT
7/11 PT Immediately after lunch I returned to the Luxembourg, and soon I saw my friend giving his arm
with old-world politeness to a tiny little old lady in black, to whom I was introduced. It was La
Castris, the famous ballerina, toast of princes, favourite of the King, idol of all that courtly age,
which seems to have left behind a haunting perfume of gallantry in the world.
We sat down on a bench; it was May. The scent of flowers was wafted along the trim walks;
the cheerful sunshine streamed through the leaves, splashing us with pools of light. La Castris’
black dress seemed drenched with liquid gold.
The ganden was deserted; the rumble of traffic could be heard in the distance.
‘Could you explain to me’, I asked the old dancer, ‘what the Minuet was like?’
He started. ‘The Minuet, Sir, is the queen of dances and the dance of queens, if you
understand me. Now that Kings are no more, the Minuet has disappeared.’
Then in stilted language he began a long, extravagantly enthusiastic panegyric, which was
quite incomprehensible. I wanted him to describe the steps with every figure and gesture. But he
161