During the time that we stayed in that place of respite, we always took our meals up in our room. It had a small window very high up, and thus seemed safe enough from curious glances. Though I gained steadily in strength each day, all the household, it seemed, hung on tender-hooks for my recovery. We ate simple fare, whether due to my delicate condition, or to Mrs. H.’s lack of kitchen help, I did not know. But we ate often, and the food was filling. We knew we would need it for the journey ahead.
One morning, the doctor knocked…
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