In the kitchen, though, a stub of candle burned on the middle of the worktable, casting its soft yellow glow across the faces of the four women gathered there. Only one of them was not familiar from yesterday, and as they all looked toward him with a mingling of welcome and curiosity he made a flourished bow to them with, “Good morrow, my ladies.” They all smiled at that, and Sister Letice a little laughed, friendliwise, before Sister Margaret said crisply, “ ‘Sister’ is sufficient here,” and added to the others, “Someone wake me after Prime, please, if I’m not awake before.” The others nodded and she left toward the passage past Joliffe’s room, to wherever the sisters’ dorter was, Joliffe presumed, while Sister Letice explained to him, “She was up much of the night. One of our men was in pain again.” “Have you eaten yet this morning?” Sister Ursula asked. When he willingly said he had not, she pushed a pottery pitcher and a wooden cup toward him along the table, and the woman not yet named to him drew a wooden platter with thick slices of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a bowl of butter from the middle of the table into his reach, giving him reason to look full at her for the first time as he thanked her.
