Concordia passed a restless night. If the sounds of strangers moaning, staff moving about, and the occasional electric light switched on in the hallway weren’t enough to keep her awake, the discomfort of her injuries and her worry about Miss Hamilton were sufficient. She was relieved when she saw dawn tinting the windows.
That morning, another nurse changed her bandages, remade her wrinkled bed, and helped her wash her face and comb her hair. Concordia’s arm and shoulder were feeling much better, and she hoped to soon dispense with the sling entirely. Her head didn’t throb nearly as much, and her hip soreness had subsided enough that she could hobble across the room with only minor support. At her first opportunity—no matter what the hospital staff had to say about it—she would find Miss
