A Hilltop on the Marne by Mildred Aldrich
page 57 of 128 (44%)
page 57 of 128 (44%)
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could be sure of being able to return if I went up to Paris.
He looked at me in perfect amazement. "You want to come back?" he asked. "Sure," I replied. "You can," he answered, "if you take a train about four o'clock. That may be the last." I very nearly said, "Jiminy-cricket!" The train ran into the station on time, but you never saw such a sight. It was packed as the Brookline street-cars used to be on the days of a baseball game. Men were absolutely hanging on the roof; women were packed on the steps that led up to the imperials to the third-class coaches. It was a perilous-looking sight. I opened a dozen coaches--all packed, standing room as well as seats, which is ordinarily against the law. I was about to give it up when a man said to me, "Madame, there are some coaches at the rear that look as if they were empty." I made a dash down the long platform, yanked open a door, and was about to ask if I might get in, when I saw that the coach was full of wounded soldiers in khaki, lying about on the floor as well as the seats. I was so shocked that if the station master, who had run after me, had not caught me I should have fallen backward. "Sh! madame," he whispered, "I'll find you a place"; and in another |
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