Miss ---- whispered: "One of them is dying. We can't save him."

She seemed to regard this one as a positive slur on their record. I
thought: "Only one--among all that crowd!"

Mrs. Stobart came after us in some alarm as we ran down the garden.

"What are you doing with Miss ----? You're not going to carry her off?"

"No," I said, "we're not. She won't come."

But we have got off with Dr. ----.

Mrs. Stobart has refused the Commandant's offer of one of our best
surgeons in exchange. He is a man. And this hospital is a Feminist Show.

We dined in a great hurry in a big restaurant in one of the main
streets. The restaurant was nearly empty and funereal black cloths were
hung over the windows to obscure the lights.

Mr. Davidson (this cheerful presence was with us in our dream-like
career through Antwerp)--Mr. Davidson and I amused ourselves by planning
how we will behave when we are taken prisoner by the Germans. He is
safe, because he is an American citizen. The unfortunate thing about me
is my passport, otherwise, by means of a well-simulated nasal twang I
might get through as an American novelist. I've been mistaken for one
often enough in my own country. But, as I don't mean to be taken
prisoner, and perhaps murdered or have my hands chopped off, without a
struggle, my plan is to deliver a speech in German, as follows: "_Ich
bin eine beruehmte Schriftstellerin_" (on these occasions you stick at
nothing), "_beruehmt in England, aber viel beruehmter in den Vereinigten
Staaten, und mein Schicksal will den Presidenten Wilson nicht
gleichgueltig sein_." I added by way of rhetorical flourish as the
language went to my head: "_Er will mein Tod zu vertheidigen gut
wissen_;" but I was aware that this was overdoing it.

Mr. Davidson thought it would be better on the whole if he were to pass
me off as his wife. Perhaps it would, but it seems a pity that so much
good German should be wasted.

We got up from that dinner with even more haste than we had sat down.
All lights in the town were put out at eight-thirty, and we didn't want
to go crawling and blundering about in the dark with our ambulance car.
There was a general feeling that the faster we ran back to Ghent the
better.

We left Mr. Davidson and Dr. Wilson in Antwerp. They were staying
over-night for the fun of the thing.

Another awful struggle on the downward slope from the quay to the bridge
of boats. A bad jam at the turn. A sudden loosening and letting g