The Patient in Room 18 · Chapter 1 (3/3)

I thrust in the pin too forcefully and withdrew my scratched thumb with an irritated exclamation. I had read somewhere that thin old maids were pathetic and fat old maids gross and all old maids sentimental, and had resolved to be none of the three, myself.

So, I was not in the best of moods as I wound my watch, took my way to the south wing, and stopped at the desk for a glance at the charts. If only the storm would break and give us a breath of fresh, cool air.

The two nurses going off duty were very evidently glad to be relieved.

“It is a queer night,” said one of them, Olma Flynn. “Makes me feel creepy.”

“H’m,” I spoke brusquely. “Likely you have been eating green apples again.” And she flounced indignantly away.