Part 1 (2/2)

Yes, the i dislocation of combinations

Like nuns, one must learn to do with no nearer friend than God

Bolts, in the shape of sudden, whihty whom one does not see

The Sister who is over s other than jokes, is going in the first week of next month Why? Where? She doesn't know, but only smiles at my impatience She knows life--hospital life

It unsettles me as I lay my spoons and forks Sixty-five trays It takes an hour to do Thirteen pieces on each tray Thirteen tis to collect, lay, square up sye a dislike to the knives because they will not lie still on the polishedout at angles after , the dileam of the trays, salt-cellars, yellow butters, cylinders of glass

Irow so secret, so uneager

How often stifled! How often torn apart!

It's heaven to me to be one of such a nuhosts--gentle shuffled ho known his life rock on its basenot talkinghtly pleasure to owns range the tables--this as-fire; this man with his wheel-chair drawn up at the end, that man at the corner where no one will jostle his arm

Curious how these officers leave the hospital, so silently

Disappearances One face after another slips out of the picture, the unknown heart behind the face fixed intently on some other centre of life

I went into a soldiers' ward to-night to inquire about a man who has pneumonia

Round his bed there stood three red screens, and the busy, white-capped heads of two Sisters bobbed above the ra there? Why the screens? Why the look of strain in the eyes of the man in the next bed who could see behind the screens?

I went cold and stood rooted, waiting till one of them could come out and speak to me

Soon they took away the screen nearest to me; they had done with it

The man I was to inquire for has no nostrils; they were bloay, and he breathes through two pieces of red rubber tubing: it gave a more horrible look to his face than I have ever seen

The Sister caht he was ”not up to

I wonder if he thinks it better to die But he was nearly well before he got pneu He had been out to tea

Inexplicable, what he thinks of, lying behind the screen

To-night I was laying my trays in the corridor, the dim corridor that I aing at intervals down the roof in a dwindling perspective