Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed. “I opened my eyes, and she was bending over my bedside. And Gosse had been still there, so Martha said, and not in prison. She’s obsessed with him, you know, totally obsessed. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. Wood, by whom it was formerly occupied. I do not even know his name. Only the major won’t have it, and we’ve to bide by what the major says.
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