'Have a smoke?' he broke in. 'No, I suppose you mustn't here. Sorry; didn't mean to interrupt....'
They were talking about the exhibition in Grafton Street.
'I must get round there,' he said, 'when I'm not so tied by the leg.'
'How long will they keep you here, d'you imagine?'
'Haven't an earthly. They may be depriving me of a finger or two in a few days. Or not. They don't seem to know their own minds about it.'
'Good Lord!' murmured Nonie, taken aback. 'I say, don't let them. You—you'd miss them so.'
'Halli, hallo, halli, hallo!
Bei uns geht's immer so!'
shrilled number eight.
Doye moved impatiently. 'He ought to be taken away, poor beggar.... I loathe hospitals. People who are ill oughtn't to be with other people in the same miserable condition; it's too depressing. One wants the undamaged, as an antidote. That's why visitors are so jolly.' His restless eyes glanced at Nonie's dark, glowing brilliance in her yellow frock, and at Alix, pale and cool and thin in green.
'Above all,' he added, 'one wants sanity and normalness and cheeriness, not people with their nerves in rags, like that poor chap.'