“I’m afraid it’s impossible; I’ll tell you later.”
“Well I’ll see her as soon as I can. I’m afraid she’ll have to wait.”
Miriam went back to her room to sort out the remaining charts. On her table lay a broken denture in a faded morocco case; a strip of paper directed “five-thirty sharp” in Mr. Orly’s handwriting. Mr. Leyton’s door burst open. He came with flying coat-tails.
“Vi got to see that patient of Mr. Hancock’s” he asked breathlessly.
“No” said Miriam “she won’t.”
“Right” he said swinging back. “I’ll keep Miss Jones on.”
Mr. Hancock’s bell sounded again. Miriam flew to the tube.
“My clamps please.”
“Oh yes” she answered shocked, and hurried back to her room.
Gathering up the broken denture she ran down the stone steps leading to the basement. Her cheap unyielding shoes clattered on the unyielding stones. The gas was on in the lunch room, Mrs. Willis scrubbing the floor. The voices of the servants came from the kitchens in the unknown background. She passed the lunch room and the cellar and clamped on across the stone hall to the open door of the workshop.