Как мы писали роман

Good-night, nurse, thanks for fetching me.'	Прощайте, сестра, спасибо за то, что позвали меня".
"She rose and went out, and I listened to her footsteps going down the stairs, and then drew up the blind and let in the dawn.	Она встала и вышла из комнаты. Я слышала, как она спустилась вниз по лестнице. Потом я подняла ставни и увидела, что уже рассвело..."

"I've never told that incident to any one until this evening," my nurse concluded, as she took the empty port wine glass out of my hand, and stirred the fire. "A nurse wouldn't get many engagements if she had the reputation for making blunders of that sort." Another story that she told me showed married life more lovelit, but then, as she added, with that cynical twinkle which glinted so oddly from her gentle, demure eyes, this couple had only very recently been wed--had, in fact, only just returned from their honeymoon. They had been travelling on the Continent, and there had both contracted typhoid fever, which showed itself immediately on their home-coming. "I was called in to them on the very day of their arrival," she said; "the husband was the first to take to his bed, and the wife followed suit twelve hours afterwards. We placed them in adjoining rooms, and, as often as was possible, we left the door ajar so that they could call out to one another. "Poor things! They were little else than boy and girl, and they worried more about each other than they thought about themselves. The wife's only trouble was that she wouldn't be able to do anything for 'poor Jack.' 'Oh, nurse, you will be good to him, won't you?' she would cry, with her big childish eyes full of tears; and the moment I went in to him it would be: 'Oh, don't trouble about me, nurse, I'm all right. Just look after the wifie, will you?' "I had a hard time between the two of them, for, with the help of her sister, I was nursing them both. It was an unprofessional thing to do, but I could see they were not well off, and I assured the doctor that I could manage. To me it was worth while going through the double work just to breathe the atmosphere of unselfishness that sweetened those two sick-rooms. The average invalid is not the patient sufferer people imagine. It is a fretful, querulous, self-pitying little world that we live in as a rule, and that we grow hard in. It gave me a new heart, nursing these young people. "The man pulled through, and began steadily to recover, but the wife was a wee slip of a girl, and her strength--what there was of it--ebbed day by day. As he got stronger he would call out more and more cheerfully to her through the open door, and ask her how she was getting on, and she would struggle to call back laughing answers. It had been a mistake to put them next to each other, and I blamed myself for having done so, but it was too late to change then. All we could do was to beg her not to exhaust herself, and to let us, when he called out, tell him she was asleep. But the thought of not answering him or calling to him made her so wretched that it seemed safer to let her have her way. "Her one anxiety was that he should not know how weak she was. 'It will worry him so,' she would say; 'he is such an old fidget over me. And I _am_ getting stronger, slowly; ain't I, nurse?' "One

Некоторое время сестра сидела молча, что случалось с ней довольно редко. "Вам надо было бы описать все то, что вы наблюдали во время своей практики", - сказал я. "Ах, -ответила она, вороша кочергой поленья, - если бы вы видели столько горя, сколько пришлось увидеть мне, вы не захотели бы писать об этом книгу. Она получилась бы слишком грустной". "Мне кажется, - прибавила она после долгого молчания, не выпуская из рук кочерги, - что только тот, кто никогда не страдал и не знает, что такое страдания, любит читать о них. Если бы я умела писать, я написала бы веселую книгу, такую, чтобы люди, читая ее, смеялись".