He had the air about him of looking for somebody or
something.
He stopped short, sniffing and whining, at sight of the gray coats
bunched in the doorway; and then, running back a few yards, with his
head all the time turned to watch the strangers, he sat on his haunches,
stuck his pointed muzzle upward toward the sky and fetched a long,
homesick howl from the bottom of his disconsolate canine soul. When we
turned a bend in the road, to enter the first recognizable street of
Liege, he was still hunkered down there in the rain. He finished the
picture; he keynoted it. The composition of it--for me--was perfect
now.
I mean no levity when I say that Liege was well shaken before taken; but
merely that the phrase is the apt one for use, because it better
expresses the truth than any other I can think of. Yet, considering
what it went through, last month, Liege seemed to have emerged in better
shape than one would have expected.
Driving into the town I saw more houses with white flags--the emblem of
complete surrender--fluttering from sill and coping, than houses bearing
marks of the siege.
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