And he chuckles and answers, "Thought you'd be pleased. It's the others gets round my bed and leaves their bits."
He was once a sergeant: he got his commission a year ago.
My ruined charms cry aloud for help.
The cap wears away my front hair; my feet are widening from the everlasting boards; my hands won't take my rings.
I was advised last night on the telephone to marry immediately before it was too late.
A desperate remedy. I will try cold cream and hair tonics first.
There is a tuberculosis ward across the landing. They call it the T.B. ward.
It is a den of coughs and harrowing noises.
One night I saw a negro standing in the doorway with his long hair done up in hairpins. He is the pet of the T.B. ward; they call him Henry.