They'll be
noddin' and wavin' now red and 'andsome, if she hasn't
cut them. She wouldn't cut them, would she, miss? She
couldn't 'ave the 'eart, I think."
"No indeed, she hasn't cut them," the nurse declared with
decision, taking Polly's burning hand tenderly in hers.
"No one could cut down such beauties. What nonsense to
think of such a thing, Polly. They're blooming, I tell
you, red and handsome, almost as tall as you are, Polly."
The office-boy touched the nurse's arm.
"A gentleman who gave no name left this box for one of
the typhoid patients," he said, handing her the box.
The nurse read the address and the box trembled in her
hands as she nervously opened it and took out the contents.
"Polly, Polly!" she cried, excitedly, "didn't I tell you
they were blooming, red and handsome."
But Polly's eyes were burning with delirium and her lips
babbled meaninglessly.
The nurse held the poppies over her.
Her arms reached out caressingly.
"Oh, miss!" she cried, her mind coming back from the
shadows. "They have come at last, the darlin's, the
sweethearts, the loves, the beauties." She held them in
a close embrace. "They're from 'ome, they're from 'ome!"
she gasped painfully, for her breath came with difficulty
now. "I can't just see them, miss, the lights is movin'
so much, and the way the bed 'eaves, but, tell me, miss,
is there a little silky one, hedged with w'ite? It was
mother's favourite one of hall.
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