Chapter Seventeen

Reginald had a broken nose, two cracked ribs, a split chin, a bruised spine, a cracked forearm, two chipped molars and a nasty bite on his tongue. There was little to do but set his nose, bind him from head to toe and dull him with morphine. But, Tom felt, there was always something comforting about hospitals; the white, crisp starchiness seemed to envelop and heal somehow.

They got a private room at the Home for Incurables, which was a blessing, because a large number of the demonstrators were brought in for various ailments, and there was a great deal of shouting, drinking, cursing, fighting and coarse flirting.

Reginald’s face was a mess. Angled metal hung on his nose. A black eye, bruises all around, a stitched chin – he was almost impossible to recognize.

“Poor Reggie,” murmur ...