A long pause.
"Stretchers!"
The first stretchers are laid on the floor.
There I have stood so often, pouring the tea behind the table, watching that littered floor, the single gas-lamp ever revolving on its chain, turning the shadows about the room like a wheel—my mind filled with pictures, emptied of thoughts, hypnotized.
But last night, for the first time, I was in the ward. For the first time I should follow them beyond the glass door, see what became of them, how they changed from soldiers into patients....
The gallants in the ward don't like a convoy; it unsexes us.
Nine o'clock ... ten o'clock.... Another biscuit. Both Germans are asleep now.
At last a noise in the corridor, a tramp on the stairs.... Only walkers? No, there's a stretcher—and another...!
Now reflection ends, my feet begin to move, my hands to undo bootlaces, flick down thermometers, wash and fetch and carry.
The gallants play bridge without looking up. I am tremendously fortified against them: for one moment I fiercely condemn and then forget them. For I am without convictions, antipathies, prejudices, reflections. I only work and watch, watch....