I wandered up one street and down the next. The printer's words haunted me.
I saw Grandfather's empty eyes.
I saw Mother order me to leave her.
I saw people weeping the doorways and did not stop. I heard the death carts rattling in the street and did not look up. (20.78-20.84)
The sights and smells of Eliza's patients were no worse than Bush Hill, but I was not prepared for the heartache. Walking into the homes of strangers, sitting on their furniture, and drying the tears of their children was harder than cleaning up the sick. A dying woman in a cot surrounded by strangers was sorrowful, but a dying woman surrounded by her children, her handiwork, the home where she worked so hard, left me in tears. (24.1)
Caring for the children was harder than caring for any other patients we had visited. Just as Robert fell asleep, William would wake crying. As soon as he was made comfortable, enough to drift off, Robert would stiffen and jolt awake with a piercing scream. Nell didn't recognize me. She woke from terrible dreams and looked around the room blindly, crying for her mother.
Night melted into day. Day surrendered to night. (25.26-25.27)