And now we must be at the big apartment house with the big gold doorman. And the evening the doorman was holding the darling Puppy on a big, long leash, and we stopped to talk to it, and he took it up in his arms and cuddled it, and it was the only time we ever saw the doorman smile!
And next\is the house with the baby, and he would always take off his hat and bow very solemnly to her, and sometimes she would give him her little starfish of a hand.
And then there is the tree with the rusty iron bars round it, where he would stop to turn and wave to me, as I leaned out of the window to watch him.
And people would look at him, but he never noticed. It was our tree, he said; it wouldn't dream of belonging to anybody else. And very few city people had their own personal tree, he said. Did I realize that, he said.
And then theres the doctors house, and the three thin grey houses and then—oh, God, we must be at our house now!
Our house, though we only had the top floor. And I loved the long, dark stairs, because he climbed them every evening.
And our little prim pink curtains at the windows, and the boxes of pink geraniums that always grew for me.
And I waiting for him in the dusk, thinking he would never come; and yet the waiting was lovely, too. And then when I opened the door to him—Oh, no, no, no! Oh, no one could bear this. No one, no one.
Ah, why, why, why must I be driven through here? What torture could there be so terrible as this?
It will be better if I uncover my eyes and look.
I will see our tree and our house again, and then my heart will burst and I will be dead. I will look. I will look.
But where's the tree? Can they have cut down our tree—our tree?
And where's the apartment house? And where's the florists shop? And where—oh, where's our house, where's—
Driver, what street is this? Six fifth? Oh. No, nothing, thank you I—I thought it was Sixty-Third
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.