Patients drifted into the San, paused, and drifted out again. Some went coffined, some rode triumphant in the horseshoe bus, many to return later for further treatment. Always secrecy regarding goings. Were they coffined or horseshoe bus goings? Sometimes the San left us uncertain. A patient just disappeared; tight-lipped and evasive were the staff over the word “death”. “Gone home,” they said vaguely, and left us to wonder. The San walled death about, hid it…

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Christmas descended upon the San as an enormous ache, a regular carbuncle of homesickness with half a dozen heads. A super-cheerful staff festooned greenery on Christmas Eve. Overworked stomachs groaned at the enormity of Mrs. Green’s preparations. The post-bag went out from the San stuffed with the gayest of Christmasy letters written by patients practically drowning in tears. Beside each bed was a little pile of cards addressed to various comrades in exile. Nurses would…

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They came to the San together. Now, they were leaving together. During their stay in the San they had stuck close to each other as damp postage stamps. Miss Bodwill was tweedy—raised mannish—batched with a brother. Feminine woollies clung softly natural to Nellie Millford. She wore a little jewellery, had a titled aunt, and gloried in pretty feminine things. Dr. Mack liked these two women. They were welcomed in her sitting-room at all times; she…

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