Hospital, Sunday, October 17th
Number 24
Number twenty-four is dying. I am very glad. It is much better for him that he should die. But it takes so long. It is terrible that it should take so long to die.
He calls me, "Ma petite dame."
"My little lady, what time is it?"
Strange, how they ask that, so many of them, when they are dying.
There is a clock on the wall opposite his bed. They tell me that for three weeks he has not been able to see it. He says the room is full of mist.
He says, "My little lady, can you see the clock?"
I always answer, "No, I cannot see the clock."
He says, "You cannot see it because of the mist."
And I say, "I cannot see it, because of the mist."