"No indeed, she hasn't cut them," the nurse declared with decision, taking Polly's burning hand tenderly in hers. "No one could cut down such beauties. What nonsense to think of such a thing, Polly. They're blooming, I tell you, red and handsome, almost as tall as you are, Polly."
The office-boy touched the nurse's arm.
"A gentleman who gave no name left this box for one of the typhoid patients," he said, handing her the box.
The nurse read the address and the box trembled in her hands as she nervously opened it and took out the contents.
"Polly, Polly!" she cried, excitedly, "didn't I tell you they were blooming, red and handsome."
But Polly's eyes were burning with delirium and her lips babbled meaninglessly.
The nurse held the poppies over her.
Her arms reached out caressingly.
"Oh, miss!" she cried, her mind coming back from the shadows. "They have come at last, the darlin's, the sweethearts, the loves, the beauties." She held them in a close embrace. "They're from 'ome, they're from 'ome!" she gasped painfully, for her breath came with difficulty now. "I can't just see them, miss, the lights is movin' so much, and the way the bed 'eaves, but, tell me, miss, is there a little silky one, hedged with w'ite? It was mother's favourite one of hall. I'd like to 'ave it in my 'and, miss."
The nurse put it in her hand. She was only a young nurse and her face was wet with tears.