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Updated: September 18, 2025
I decided I must gamble on this hypothesis. The railway guide showed that a train left for Düsseldorf from the Potsdamer Bahnhof the great railway terminus in the very centre of Berlin at 12.45 a.m. That left me roughly three-quarters of an hour to lay my false trail and catch my train.
The foreign words and phrases which they use have their exact equivalents in a nobler language English; yet they think they 'adorn their page' when they say STRASSE for street, and BAHNHOF for railway-station, and so on flaunting these fluttering rags of poverty in the reader's face and imagining he will be ass enough to take them for the sign of untold riches held in reserve.
Three days later, towards four o'clock in the afternoon, Maurice watched the train that carried her from him steam out of the DRESDENER BAHNHOF. The clearness he had gained as to his own motives, and the ruthless probing of himself it induced, both led to the same conclusion: Louise must go away.
The city was as dark as interstellar space and she would have been forced to spend the night in the Anhalt Bahnhof if Mariette had not met her. They walked from the station, keeping close to the walls of the silent houses and entering Unter den Linden from the Friedrichstrasse.
I have seen Berlin's East-end change from the hilarious joy of the first year of the war to an ever-deepening gloom. I have studied conditions there long and carefully, but I feel that I can do no better than describe my last Saturday in that interesting quarter of the German capital. Late in the morning I left the Stettiner Bahnhof in the north and walked eastward through the Invalidenstrasse.
The news from Rumania, though good, would bring them no cheer until it was followed by plenty of food. In the vicinity of the Schlesischer Bahnhof occurred a trifling incident which gave me an opportunity to see the inside of a poor German home that day. A soldier in faded field-grey, home on leave, asked me for a match.
About eleven o'clock on the following morning, after two tyre troubles, I was passing out of the quaint mediæval town of Hildesheim, intending to reach Hanover before noon. I had come around the Haupt Bahnhof and on to the highway beyond the railroad, when my heart gave a leap as a policeman dashed out into the road in front of me and held up his hand. "Your name?" he demanded gruffly.
The foreign words and phrases which they use have their exact equivalents in a nobler language English; yet they think they 'adorn their page' when they say STRASSE for street, and BAHNHOF for railway-station, and so on flaunting these fluttering rags of poverty in the reader's face and imagining he will be ass enough to take them for the sign of untold riches held in reserve.
And, lest the military idea should ever fail from out the Schlachtstadt's burgher's mind, there were police in uniform, street-sweepers in uniform; the ticket-takers, guards, and sweepers at the Bahnhof were in uniform, but all wearing the same kind of cap, with the probability of having been wound up freshly each morning for their daily work.
I do not believe in letting the United States tell us how to conduct the war. We are quite capable of conducting it and completing it in a manner satisfactory to ourselves." The man in grey agreed with the man in blue. Past the blazing munition works at Spandau, across the Havel, through the Tiergarten, running slowly now, to the Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof.
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