Both were dead long since. To whom the house belonged now I did
not know. But I recognised pictures and statuary and a
conservatory with palms. And the place shimmered with brilliant
ghosts and was haunted by hot perfumes and by the echo of human
voices and by elfin music. And the cripple forgot that he was
being carried up the stairs in the grip of the old soldier. He was
mounting them with heart beating high and the presence of a
beloved hand on his arm. ... You see, it was all so sudden. It
took my breath away and sent my mind whirling back over twenty
years.
It was like awaking from a dream to find a door flung open in
front of me and to hear the Sister announce my name. I was on the
threshold not of a ward, but of a well-appointed private room
fairly high up and facing the square, for the first thing I saw
was the tops of the leafless trees through the windows. Then I was
conscious of a cheery fire. The last thing I took in was the bed
running at right angles to door and window, and Leonard Boyce
lying in it with bandages about his face. For the dazed second or
two he seemed to be Reggie Dacre over again. But he had thrown
back the bedclothes and his broad chest and great arms were free.
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