I can even go to the play; hear the jokes and listen to the songs and music, and understand what is going on without experiencing that feeling of mystery and wonder which must be the lot of him who has always been blind.
And the greatest gift of all, my sense of gratitude, that after passing through death, I am alive!
CHAPTER XXIII[ToC]
THE WOMAN WHO WAITS
THE TELEGRAPH BOY'S RAT-TAT. KILLED IN ACTION. WEEKS OF MOURNING
Meanwhile, what was transpiring at home? What interpretation had been put upon my absence?
Many weeks later, after my first letter had reached home like a message from the dead, a post-card was handed to me from my father, which seemed to echo the sob of a broken heart. It was the first message to arrive from the England I loved so much, and my home, which I yearned for.