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Norman? "What do you mean by 'somethings happened?" "I can't make out exactly. But it's serious and I'm afraid you'll have to see him." Norman was in the advanced stages of chronic nephritis, an attractive boy of nineteen with the characteristic sallow pallor of wumia. "I had to call you," he said, "I'm sorry to be a nuisance. But it was a bad dream, and I hardly made it back." I had his bed moved out into the adjoining utility room where I could turn on the light without disturbing the other patients, and drew up a chair beside him. He accepted the cigarette I offered him and drew on it with trembling lips. His poor arm on which the [??] frost" could be detected, lay close to me at the edge of the mattress, perhaps by mute intention. The nurse came in, carrying the order book. "Do you want a sedative. Norman, or would you rather just rest and take a little until you've forgotten the nightmare? Are you beginning to feel a little more like yourself?"