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178 mind. Let's see, where were we? It seems as though we had been on a far, far journey since morning. What was it?

"Cheerio!" interrupts our nearest English neighbor; and we do. We lift our glass and drink as though to that ugly scar across his face that has caught our eye.

And the next thing we know it is 2 A.M., legal closing time, and we find ourselves on the streets of London at the mercy of the taxi Jehus. We had come back to life in the ordinary—as the chauffeur confirmed by charging us double the legal fare back to our flat in Bayswater. In that moment we both forgot all those finer things of life. We must wait until the poppies bloom again.

Armistice Day was over.

ARMISTICE DAY

BY MARY CAROLYN DAVIES

, drums, and marching feet!

Drums, drums, and the busy street

Stops in its beehive mimicry

To stare at the tall flag floating free!

Drums, drums, and the old O. D.!

Drums, drums, drums, drums!

Slowly the procession comes.