I am not in the least bit tired; I never felt drowsy once, and my cough has nearly gone.
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Antwerp has fallen.
Taube over Ghent in the night.
Six doctors have seen Mr. ——. They all say he is ever so much better. They even say he may live—that he has a good chance.
Dr. Wilson is taking Mr. Foster to England this morning.
Went back to the Hôtel Cecil to sleep for an hour or two. An enormous oval table-top is leaning flat against the wall; but by no possibility can it be set up. Still, the landlord said he would find a table, and he has found one.
Went back to the "Flandria" for lunch. In the mess-room Janet tells me that Mr. ——'s case has been taken out of my hands. I am not to try to do any more nursing.
Little Janet looks as if she were trying to soften a blow. But it isn't a blow. Far from it. It is the end of an intolerable responsibility.
The Commandant and the Chaplain started about nine or ten this morning for Melle, and are not back yet.