“Don’t go, Helen,” Miss Barkley said.
“I’d really rather. I must write some letters.”
“Good night,” I said.
“Good night, Mr. Henry.”
“Don’t write anything that will bother the censor.”
“Don’t worry. I only write about what a beautiful place we live in and how brave the Italians are.”
“That way you’ll be decorated.”
“That will be nice. Good night, Catherine.”
“I’ll see you in a little while,” Miss Barkley said. Miss Ferguson walked away in the dark.
“She’s nice,” I said.
“Oh, yes, she’s very nice. She’s a nurse.”
“Aren’t you a nurse?”
“Oh, no. I’m something called a V.A.D. We work very hard but no one trusts us.”
“Why not?”
“They don’t trust us when there’s nothing going on. When there is really work they trust us.”
“What is the difference?”
“A nurse is like a doctor. It takes a long time to be. A V.A.D. is a shortcut.”