"Mr. Spencer is calling," said the concierge over the telephone, in
his slow English. And suddenly a tight band snapped which had
seemed to bind Audrey's head all day. She was calm. She was
herself again. Life was very wonderful; peace was very wonderful.
The dear old world. The good old world. The kind, loving, tender
old world, which separated people that they might know the joy of
coming together again. She wanted to sing, she wanted to hang over
her balcony and teach the un-vocal French the "Marseillaise."
Yet, when she had opened the door, she could not even speak. And
Clay, too, after one long look at her, only held out his arms. It
was rather a long time, indeed, before they found any words at all.
Audrey was the first, and what she said astounded her. For she said:
"What a dreadful noise outside."
And Clay responded, with equal gravity: "Yes, isn't it!"
Then he took off his overcoat and put it down, and placed his hat
on the table, and said, very simply: "I couldn't stay away.
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