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It's like wine to me! The clang of the ambulance gong? I'd rather hear it than fire engines! I'd crawl on my hands and knees a hundred miles to watch a major operation! I wish there was a war! I'd give my life to see a cholera epidemic! Abruptly as it came the passion faded from her face, leaving every feature tranquil again, demure, exaggeratedly innocent.See, Helene! My new beau! she e vision wolverhampton giggled experimentally.In real irritation Helene released herself.The cool fingers on her pulse seemed e vision wolverhampton to tighten a little.Sure the uniforms are cute, she persisted a bit thickly.S sh! S e vision wolverhampton sh! admonished the Superintendent's mumbling lips.The smell of ether! she stammered.But you see I was willing! e vision wolverhampton she said.Well of all the ridiculous unmitigated greenhorns! she began.That's the whole trouble with you, Zillah Forsyth! she e vision wolverhampton stammered.How do you know you were meant to be a Trained Nurse, Helene Churchill? she began all over again.Indeed among all the thirty or more varieties of noble e vision wolverhampton expression which an indomitable Superintendent had finally succeeded in inculcating into her graduating class, no other physiognomies had responded more plastically perhaps than these three to the merciless imprint of the great hospital machine which, in pursuance of its one repetitive design, discipline, had coaxed Zillah Forsyth into the semblance of a lady, snubbed Helene Churchill into the substance of plain womanhood, and, still uncertain just what to do with Rae Malgregor's rollicking rural immaturity, had frozen her face temporarily into the smugly dimpled likeness of a fancy French doll rigged out as a nurse for some gilt edged hospital fair.