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Updated: May 24, 2025
When we left the Eager Soul with the Gilded Youth in the hospital at we'll say Landrecourt, because that is not the place we thought our love affair was gone for ever. The letter she gave us to deliver to the Young Doctor we had to trust to other hands; for he was not at the American hospital where he should have been.
But here we were, two fat old babes in the woods and here came the Gilded Youth, the Eager Soul and the Young Doctor sping! like a German shell right into our midst, as it were. There at Landrecourt we found the Eager Soul, a badly scared young person but tremendously plucky! And mad say, that girl was doing a strafing job that would have made the kaiser blush!
But the memory of the hazel eyes of the Gilded Youth as he gazed at the pretty face of the young nurse there in the moonlight at Landrecourt, with such exaltation and joy, kept bobbing back into our minds as we saw other lovers in other lands, married and single, crossing our paths.
Landrecourt was on our way and we hurried to it. Was there ever a martial adventure without a love story in it? Little did it seem to Henry and me as we left our humble homes in Wichita and Emporia to make the world safe for democracy, that we two thick-set, sedentary, new world replicas of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza should be the chaperons and custodians of a love affair.
She really smiled as she quoted: "'It means intensely and it means good!" Auntie's tired eyes gathered us in again. "When you left Landrecourt last month he told me much about the voyage over here on the Espagne."
He was a hairy, dirty, forsaken looking poilu who, washed and shaved and classified, turned out to be an exchange professer from the Sorbonne, who had spent a year at Harvard, and it was he who told us of the bombing of the hospital at Landrecourt; we'll call it Landrecourt to fool the censor, who thinks there is no hospital there.
And he was in a training camp near Paris. We wondered how many times during his training he would slip across the sky to Landrecourt to visit his true love. The one-horse buggy had been the only lover's chariot known to Henry and me, and we remembered how a red-wheeled cart used to lay out the neighbours in the heroic days of the nineties.
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