She ran rather than walked.

She had a smile for every maimed man who was brought to her, but when the man had been treated, and had limped away or had been carried away, I saw her often wringing her hands and sobbing over the utter horror of it all.
Then another sufferer would appear and she would wipe the tears off her cheeks and get to work again.

The third--so an assistant surgeon confided to us--was the mistress of an officer at the front, a prostitute of the Berlin sidewalks, who enrolled for hospital work when her lover went to the front.

She Was a tall, dark, handsome girl, who looked to be more Spaniard than German, and she was graceful and lithe even in the exceedingly shapeless costume of blue print that she wore.
She was less deft than either of her associates but very willing and eager.

As between the three--the noblewoman, the working woman and the woman of the street--the medical officials in charge made no distinction whatsoever.