"John--I want to get him in before he dies."

"All right. Get in under there. Take his head."

"Hadn't I better take his feet?"

"You'd better take what you're told to."

She stiffened to the weight, heaved up her shoulder. Two men came running
down the steps to help her as John pulled.

"They'll be glad," he said, "to see him."

* * * * *

She was in the yard of the hospital, swabbing out the car, when John
came to her.

The back and side of the hospital, the long barracks of the annex and the
wall at the bottom enclosed a waste place of ochreish clay. A long wooden
shed, straw-white and new, was built out under the red brick of the
annex. She thought it was a garage. John came out of the door of the
shed. He beckoned to her as he came.

"Come here," he said. "I want to show you something."

They went close together, John gripping her arm, in the old way, to steer
her. As they came to the long wall of the shed his eyes slewed round and
looked at her out of their corners. She had seen that sidelong, attentive
look once before, when she was a little girl, in the eyes of a schoolboy