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Nicholson, Meredith, 1866-1947

"The Port of Missing Men"

He
had formed quite definite plans of what he should do in certain
emergencies, and he felt a new strength in his confidence that he should
succeed in the business that had brought him into the hills.
At the abandoned bridge he threw himself down and gazed off through a
narrow cut that afforded a glimpse of the Springs, where the electric
lights gleamed as one lamp. Shirley Claiborne was there in the valley and
he smiled with the thought of her; for soon--perhaps in a few hours--he
would be free to go to her, his work done; and no mystery or dangerous
task would henceforth lie between them.
He saw march before him across the night great hosts of armed men,
singing hymns of war; and again he looked upon cities besieged; still
again upon armies in long alignment waiting for the word that would bring
the final shock of battle. The faint roar of water far below added an
under-note of reality to his dream; and still he saw, as upon a tapestry
held in his hand, the struggles of kingdoms, the rise and fall of
empires. Upon the wide seas smoke floated from the guns of giant ships
that strove mightily in battle.


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