"I was a beggar outside San Marco."
"Were you? How odd! I was an Englishman."
The concerts that we give in the ward touch me with some curious emotion. I think it is because I am for once at rest in the ward and have time to think and wonder.
There is Captain Thomson finishing his song. He doesn't know what to do with his hands; they swing. He is tall and dark, with soft eyes—and staff badges.
Could one guess what he is? Never in a dozen years.... But I know!
He said to me last night, "Nurse, I'm going out to-morrow."
I leant across the table to listen to him.
"Nurse, if you ever want any crêpe de Chine ... for nightgowns ... mind, at wholesale prices...."
"I have bought some at a sale."
"May I ask at what price?"