Florence Nightingale

Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. Florence let the heavy front door swing shut behind her. Then she crossed to the edge of the flagged terrace and paused a moment, frowning slightly. Her arms were filled with dozens of small paper-wrapped packages, each tied with a bit of red or yellow ribbon, and her cheeks were a little flushed from the effort of balancing this bur den. She looked anxiously about, to see that nothing had been dropped; she looked again at the packages, her lips moving silently.