Sleep pulled at her edges and softening corners. Maude’s hard hands prompted her body to stay upright with short tugs and prods whenever she felt herself start to lean. She was sick of apologizing. ‘Sorry’ when she swayed. ‘Sorry’ as she blinked herself back awake. ‘Sorry’ as she moved an arm to stifle a yawn. Country air and the four miles she’d walked to and from the village had left her dead on her feet. The deep hot water of the bath she had taken in Edith’s own bathroom had been preceeded by a bowl of mutton broth she’d wolfed down with a portion of home-made bread in the dining room. The medicine Maude spooned into her mouth for her chill had been bitter but instantly warming. And now she’d stopped moving, her head and body felt heavy and she desperately wanted to sleep. In her dimming thoughts, she was concerned at how tired, at how unfit she was, but a confrontation about skipping dinner and retiring early had to be risked. ‘I’m sorry, but .
