my enemies; the patients are my enemies--even Mr.
Wicks, who lies on his back with his large head turned fixedly my way to
see how often I stop at the bed whose number is 11.

Last night he dared to say, "It's not like you, nurse, staying so much
with that rowdy crew...." The gallants ... I know! But one among them
has grown quieter, and his bed is No. 11.

Even Mr. Wicks is my enemy.

He watches and guards. Who knows what he might say to the eldest Sister?
He has nothing to do all day but watch and guard.

In the bunk at tea I sit among thoughts of my own. The Sisters are my
enemies....

I am alive, delirious, but not happy.

I am at any one's mercy; I have lost thirty friends in a day. The
thirty-first is in bed No. 11.

This is bad: hospital cannot shelter this life we lead, No. 11 and I. He
is a prisoner, and I have my honour, my responsibility towards him; he
has come into this room to be cured, not tormented.

Even my hand must not meet his--no, not even in a careless touch, not
even in its "duty"; or, if it does, what risk!

I am conspired against: it is not I who make his bed, hand him what he
wishes; some accident defeats me every time.

Now that I come to think of it, it seems strange that the Sisters should
be my enemies. Don't we deserve sympathy and pity, No. 11 and I? From
women, too....

Isn't there a charm hanging about us? Aren't we leading magic days? Do
they feel it and dislike it? Why?

I feel that the little love we have created is a hare whose natural fate
is to be run by every hound. But I don't see the reason.

We can't speak, No. 11 and I, only a whispered word or two that seems to
shout itself into every ear. We don't know each other.

Last night it was stronger than I. I let him stand near me and talk. I
saw the youngest Sister at the far end of the ward by the door, but I
didn't move; she was watching. The moment I took my eyes from her I
forgot her.... That is how one feels when one is desperate; that is how
trouble comes.

Later, I stood down by the hatch waiting for the tray of fish, and as I
stood there, the youngest Sister beside me, he came down, for he was up
and dressed yesterday, and offered to carry the tray. For he is
reckless, too....

She told him to go back, and said to me, looking from her young,
condemning eyes, "I suppose he thinks he can make up for being the cause
of all the lateness to-night."

"Sister...." and then I stopped short. I hated he