Ten years is an age in
a city where epochs are counted by hours.
Now, after two weeks of Norah's loving care, I was
back in the pretty little city by the lake. I had come
to say farewell to all those who had filled my life so
completely in that year. My days of newspaper work were
over. The autumn and winter would be spent at Norah's,
occupied with hours of delightful, congenial work, for
the second book was to be written in the quiet peace of
my own little Michigan town. Von Gerhard was to take his
deferred trip to Vienna in the spring, and I knew that I
was to go with him. The thought filled my heart with a
great flood of happiness.
Together Von Gerhard and I had visited Alma Pflugel's
cottage, and the garden was blooming in all its wonder of
color and scent as we opened the little gate and walked
up the worn path. We found them in the cool shade of the
arbor, the two women sewing, Bennie playing with the last
wonderful toy that Blackie had given him. They made a
serene and beautiful picture there against the green
canopy of the leaves. We spoke of Frau Nirlanger, and of
Blackie, and of the strange snarl of events which had at
last been unwound to knit a close friendship between us.
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