![]() ![]() Sweet land… oh terrible land of this bitter world where the sound of rejoicing was a clamour of pain, where ragged tuneless old women, sitting up waiting for their evening bowl of cocoa, were singing, “Sweet land of Liberty-” From the ward for old bedridden women down the hall floated a ragged chorus of cracked voices singing, “My country, ’tis of thee…” She rattled a spoon in a cup, stopped to listen, held the cup out to Miranda. ![]() The war is over, my dear.” Her hands trembled. The light came on, and Miss Tanner said in a furry voice, “Hear that? They’re celebrating. Miranda waking from a dreamless sleep asked without expecting an answer, “What is happening?” for there was a bustle of voices and footsteps in the corridor, and a sharpness in the air the far clamour went on, a furious exasperated shrieking like a mob in revolt. “Bells Screamed all off key, wrangling together as they collided in midair, horns and whistles mingled shrilly with cries of human distress sulphur-colored light ex-ploded through the black windowpane and flashed away in darkness. ![]()
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