The cry
had come from the bed.
It was bright morning the next time Mrs Gamp looked out of the window,
and the sun was rising cheerfully. Lighter and lighter grew the sky, and
noisier the streets; and high into the summer air uprose the smoke of
newly kindled fires, until the busy day was broad awake.
Mrs Prig relieved punctually, having passed a good night at her other
patient's. Mr Westlock came at the same time, but he was not admitted,
the disorder being infectious. The doctor came too. The doctor shook
his head. It was all he could do, under the circumstances, and he did it
well.
'What sort of a night, nurse?'
'Restless, sir,' said Mrs Gamp.
'Talk much?'
'Middling, sir,' said Mrs Gamp.
'Nothing to the purpose, I suppose?'
'Oh bless you, no, sir. Only jargon.'
'Well!' said the doctor, 'we must keep him quiet; keep the room cool;
give him his draughts regularly; and see that he's carefully looked to.
That's all!'
'And as long as Mrs Prig and me waits upon him, sir, no fear of that,'
said Mrs Gamp.
'I suppose,' observed Mrs Prig, when they had curtseyed the doctor out;
'there's nothin' new?'
'Nothin' at all, my dear,' said Mrs Gamp.
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