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For
a
few
moments
I
stared
back
at
them
.
It
took
that
long
to
register
.
Then
:
"
I
—
they
—
they
seem
to
be
stuck
,
"
I
said
.
"
I
’
ll
find
someone
to
see
to
them
.
"
And
with
that
I
fled
from
the
ward
.
I
was
shaky
again
,
and
I
could
have
done
with
a
stiff
drink
.
The
thing
was
beginning
to
sink
in
.
But
I
found
it
difficult
to
believe
that
allthe
men
in
that
ward
could
be
blind
,
and
yet
.
.
.
The
elevator
wasn
’
t
working
,
so
I
started
down
the
stairs
.
On
the
next
floor
I
pulled
myself
together
and
plucked
up
the
courage
to
look
into
another
ward
.
The
beds
there
were
all
disarranged
.
At
first
I
thought
the
place
was
empty
,
but
it
wasn
’
t
—
not
quite
.
Two
men
in
nightclothes
lay
on
the
floor
.
One
was
soaked
in
blood
from
an
unhealed
incision
,
the
other
looked
as
if
some
kind
of
congestion
had
seized
him
.
They
were
both
quite
dead
.
The
rest
had
gone
.
Back
on
the
stairs
once
more
,
I
realized
that
most
of
the
background
voices
I
had
been
hearing
all
the
time
were
coming
up
from
below
,
and
that
they
were
louder
and
closer
now
.
I
hesitated
a
moment
,
but
there
seemed
to
be
nothing
for
it
but
to
go
on
making
my
way
down
.
On
the
next
turn
I
nearly
tripped
over
a
man
who
lay
across
my
way
in
the
shadow
.
At
the
bottom
of
the
flight
lay
somebody
who
actually
had
tripped
over
him
—
and
cracked
his
head
on
the
stone
steps
as
he
landed
.
At
last
I
reached
the
final
turn
where
I
could
stand
and
look
down
into
the
main
hail
.
Seemingly
everyone
in
the
place
who
was
able
to
move
must
have
made
instinctively
for
that
spot
,
either
with
the
idea
of
finding
help
or
of
getting
outside
.
Maybe
some
of
them
had
got
out
.
One
of
the
main
entrance
doors
was
wide
open
,
but
most
of
them
couldn
’
t
find
it
.
There
was
a
tight
-
packed
mob
of
men
and
women
,
nearly
all
of
them
in
their
hospital
nightclothes
,
milling
slowly
and
helplessly
around
.
The
motion
pressed
those
on
the
outskirts
cruelly
against
marble
corners
or
ornamental
projections
.
Some
of
them
were
crushed
breathlessly
against
the
walls
.
Now
and
then
one
would
trip
.
If
the
press
of
bodies
allowed
him
to
fall
,
there
was
little
chance
that
it
would
let
him
come
up
again
.
The
place
looked
—
well
,
maybe
you
’
ll
have
seen
some
of
Dore
’
s
pictures
of
sinners
in
hell
.
But
Dore
couldn
’
t
include
the
sounds
:
the
sobbing
,
the
murmurous
moaning
,
and
occasionally
a
forlorn
cry
.
A
minute
or
two
of
it
was
all
I
could
stand
.
I
fled
back
up
the
stairs
.
