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Updated: May 11, 2025
Let's drive to a little garden-square close to my hospital we can dismiss the taxi there and talk until I have to go in that's to say, if you are free to come." "Are you nursing?" he said. His eyes looked questioningly at her blue uniform. "No, not yet I'm a pantry-maid." "A what?" he said, laughingly. "You're a darling!"
When Freddy left for the Front she was able to say good-bye during her "two hours off." Fresh air and sunshine, after the dark basement-pantry in which she worked, seemed to her sufficient enjoyment and all the pleasure she wanted. She seldom did anything in these hours but sit on a bench in the garden-square near her hospital and rest her tired feet.
Two hours gave her very little time for making expeditions or seeing the sights of London, which were all unknown to her, so she spent the greater part of her time in the secluded garden-square close to her lodgings.
A London church, as black and white with smoke and the wearing winds of time as the marble churches of Lombardy, raised its belfry, of unnamable architecture, picturesquely above the square on one side, while a portion of its graveyard, which had been incorporated in the garden-square, and which seemed to Margaret in its shabby condition much older and more pathetically forlorn than the temple-tombs under the Theban hills, attracted the aged and the melancholy.
Fernau belongs to the small band of German Liberals who have been driven from their country." The taxi had reached the garden-square. They got out and Michael prodigally overpaid the driver. The man took the money. "I'd have driven you for nothing, sir," he said delightedly, "if the car was my own. I was young once, and so was the missus." He saluted respectfully.
When she appeared in the garden-square the next day, the aged comedian told her about her "find," and asked her anxiously if she had lost a shilling. Margaret lied nobly; yet her lie was only half a lie, for she certainly had not lost it. She had vividly realized the finding of it. Margaret never laid out a shilling to better account.
The one brave laburnum which gave brightness and fragrance to her garden-square told her that in the larger open spaces the flowering shrubs would be at their best.
When they had been seated for a few moments, Michael said: "It's a far cry to the Valley, and the little wooden hut, and the tombs of the Pharaohs, Meg." Meg's eyes swept the garden-square; the laburnum-tree was shedding flakes of gold from its long tassels; they were falling like yellow rain in the spring breeze. "Very, very far," she said as her eyes pointed to the smoke-begrimed tombstones.
Her "bit" was very, very dull, but it was her "bit," and nothing she did, she knew, could in any way compare in dullness to the lives of the boys in the trenches. So she worked and endured, and found the necessary change of scene in the mixed company of her garden-square society. The days fled past.
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