And wonder now what could have caused her to let go her composure.
Memories by Lord Frederick Leighton
I’d been at the newsstand in Union station two minutes before I noticed the young woman with the blank distraught stare. She was looking at the cover of the Walrus magazine when she took breath and screamed as if her hair was on fire. No one could get her to stop, not the frantic man behind the counter or the lady with the steady voice and nurses disposition nor anyone of the host of increasingly (upset-on-her-behalf-bystanders). We were on the verge of calling for an ambulance when an unassuming gentleman stepped forward and pulled her in his arms. Saying only, ‘It’s never as bad as all that,’ his tone certain and tender. The poor distresses woman burst into tears and buried her face into his torso. She wept all her agony on to his shirt and one by one we now free of the responsibility of the moment disbursed leaving her to his care.
My love my care,