The lights were lit everywhere. He was coming to a
great thoroughfare. He judged by his slight knowledge of the city that it
might be Broadway. There would likely be a restaurant somewhere near. He
hurried on and turned into the crowded street. How cold it was! The wind
cut him like a knife. He had been a fool to come off alone like this! Just
out of the hospital, too. Perhaps he would get sick and have to go to
another hospital. He shivered and stopped to pull his collar up closer
around his neck. Then suddenly he stood still and stared with a dazed,
bewildered expression, straight ahead of him. Was he getting a bit leary?
He passed his hand over his eyes and looked again. Yes, there it was!
Right in the midst of the busy, hurrying throng of Union Square! He made
sure it was Union Square, for he looked up at the street sign to be
certain it wasn't Willow Vale--or Heaven--right there where streets met
and crossed, and cars and trolleys and trucks whirled, and people passed
in throngs all day, just across the narrow road, stood the loveliest, most
perfect little white clapboard cottage that ever was built on this earth,
with porches all around and a big tree growing up through the roof of one
porch.
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