But he listened for the soft, musical note which he believed now, in his imaginative state, had drawn him from the mid-region between life and death.
The stalwart figure of a woman in a somber dress with a red cross sewed upon it passed between him and the light, but he knew that it was not she who had been singing.

He closed his eyes in disappointment, but reopened them.

A man wearing a white jacket and radiating an atmosphere of drugs now walked before him.

He must be a surgeon.

At home, surgeons wore white jackets.