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On they went relentlessly through the Saturday throng along the great Georgstrasse a foreign paradise, with its great bright cafes and the strange promising detail of its shops tantalisingly half seen. She hated, too, the discomfort of walking thus at this pace through streets along pavements in her winter clothes. They hampered her horribly.
Sitting at a little marble-topped table with the Bergmanns near the window and overlooking the full flood of the Georgstrasse Miriam felt a keen renewal of the sense of being abroad. Here she sat, in the little enclosure of this upper room above a shopful of strange Delikatessen, securely adrift. Behind her she felt, not home but the German school where she belonged. Here they all sat, free.
She felt her eyes grow strong and clear; a coolness flowed through her obstructed only where she felt the heavy pad of hair pinned to the back of her head, the line of her hat, the hot line of compression round her waist and the confinement of her inflexible boots. They were approaching the Georgstrasse with its long-vistaed width and its shops and cafes and pedestrians.
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