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Page 124
"I love you," was her answer to every line. And it was no divided
allegiance she promised him. "Career? I shall have a career.
Yours!"
"And your music?"
She colored, held him closer.
"Some day," she whispered, "I shall tell you about that."
Late winter morning in Vienna, with the school-children hurrying
home, the Alserstrasse alive with humanity--soldiers and
chimney-sweeps, housewives and beggars. Before the hospital the
crowd lines up along the curb; the head waiter from the
coffee-house across comes to the doorway and looks out. The
sentry in front of the hospital ceases pacing and stands at
attention.
In the street a small procession comes at the double quick--a
handful of troopers, a black van with tiny, high-barred windows,
more troopers.
Inside the van a Bulgarian spy going out to death--a swarthy
little man with black eyes and short, thick hands, going out like
a gentleman and a soldier to meet the God of patriots and lovers.
The sentry, who was only a soldier from Salzburg with one lung,
was also a gentleman and a patriot. He uncovered his head.
End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of The Street of Seven Stars by Rinehart
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