She sighed with relief. “Do you need me to remind you that your patient is bleeding to death?” He dropped on his knees by the man’s side and made a hurried examination. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. True, on board the ships she had watched young men from afar, but only with that normal curiosity which is aroused in the presence of any new species. Mary Lucia was branded “the earliest riser and the best at keeping up with her chores” by the formidable Sisters at the orphanage. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. He roused curiosities.
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