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was very nice in the sanitarium. The day nurse was Miss Parsons. She had hair that was like straw, both in color and texture. She pretended to be greatly annoyed by requests and scolded with mock severity when extra trouble was made for her. She was really very obliging. Her father had a comfortable amount of money; so she did not need her position and often flouted rules to make a patient she fancied more comfortable.

It was Miss Parsons who came over to Dot's bed on that first morning and said, "How would you like to get your face washed?"

"I'd like to," said Dot. "I only put this make-up on in case my husband came."

"If he did," said Miss Parsons, "he'd cool his heels downstairs until you were properly fixed. How do you feel?"

"Fine," said Dot. Her head was splitting with a sickening ache that reached from her eyebrows to the back of her neck, but it was scarcely noticed in the excitement of being in a strange place and of having had a baby.

Miss Parsons brought a basin of water. She rummaged among Dot's effects and found the toilet articles. Dot wanted to wash her own face, but Miss Parsons was a strong-willed woman. Dot wondered how Miss Parsons could brush another person's teeth. She couldn't, it appeared. Dot was permitted to do that for herself. Miss Parsons attended to a few other matters of pressing import and turned to the patient in the next bed.

"That's only a once-over," she said to Dot. "You'll get your real cleaning later."