“That’s it. They’ve too many nurses here now. There must be some more patients or they’ll send us away. They have four nurses now.”
“Perhaps there’ll be some. They need that many nurses. It’s quite a big hospital.”
“I hope some will come. What would I do if they sent me away? They will unless there are more patients.”
“I’d go too.”
“Don’t be silly. You can’t go yet. But get well quickly, darling, and we will go somewhere.”
“And then what?”
“Maybe the war will be over. It can’t always go on.”
“I’ll get well,” I said. “Valentini will fix me.”
“He should with those mustaches. And, darling, when you’re going under the ether just think about something else—not us. Because people get very blabby under an anaesthetic.”
“What should I think about?”
“Anything. Anything but us. Think about your people. Or even any other girl.”
"No.
“Say your prayers then. That ought to create a splendid impression.”
“Maybe I won’t talk.”
“That’s true. Often people don’t talk.”
“I won’t talk.”
“Don’t brag, darling. Please don’t brag. You’re so sweet and you don’t have to brag.”
“I won’t talk a word.”
“Now you’re bragging, darling. You know you don’t need to brag. Just start your prayers or poetry or something when they tell you to breathe deeply. You’ll
