The Last Summer
It was the fall of 1941. At the Grand Hotel ladies in sundresses and broad brimmed hats gathered along the grassy lawns looking like tea-cakes in the morning sun. The autumn breeze swept through the grounds of the old place reminding everyone, for all the heat, that it was still September, the leaves were about to turn, and it was indeed approaching a new season. With arrival of fall they would be forced to return to a world more real than the one they reveled in for the three languorous months of summer. As they kissed goodbye beside their daddy's roadsters, the ladies weeping softly for a time now lost, they were obliged to recall that something rare, something magical and perhaps portentous, something outside the boundaries of their conventional lives had happened w
