Pause

A new patient was put to bed, all his peculiarities noted, entered in the Doom Book. Had he one or two lungs? was he emaciated or naturally lean? cheerful dispositioned or grumpy? possessed of a poor appetite or just pernickety? When this knowledge had been ascertained and recorded, Doctor McNair cast about for a couple of suitable visitors to cheer the newcomer. For me she selected Scrap. Scrap opened my door inches—enough to squeeze her…

Downs’ kept their beds; ‘Ups’ walked in all weathers and went to the dinner-table; ‘Semis’ lay prone on lounge chairs upon the Circular Porch, the better part of most days. The Circular Porch was a dreary place. The long row of chairs was circled to fit its surroundings. They had wavy seats to accommodate the reclining forms of emaciated bodies. When the porch was empty of people the chair seats looked like a heaving yellow…

The Sunhill Sanatorium belonged to a company. It consisted of Doctor Sally Bottle and a handful of nonentities who gave sums of money to Dr. Bottle to turn over for them. Doctor Sally Bottle was as omnipotent in the company as she was omnipotent in the San. She rushed down from her Harley Street office late Friday night and took hold, returning to London late Sunday night. Doctor Sally filled not only the San…