She just found herself sitting there in Sister’s office, looking at the box of chocolate liqueurs on the desk, and trying to think clearly. Once she had seen Sheila with her own eyes, she had felt better; not that the poor woman wasn’t ill. She was. She lay in bed with an IV line up and her head turned to one side on her pillow, her eyes only partially closed — a particularly unnerving feature — but breathing with what appeared to be reasonable regularity. ‘She’s all right, doctor.’ Sister Chaplin, a tall red-headed woman in her forties with a pleasant manner that was very reassuring, had put a hand on her shoulder. ‘She’s going to do, you know.’ ‘Do?’ ‘Be all right. Get better. She’ll do.’ ‘Oh. I — But I don’t understand. What happened? And how did you know it was the chocolate that was the cause?’ ‘That was sheer luck,’ Sister Chaplin said and then, as Sheila stirred and opened her eyes a little more, leaned over the bed and touched the hand on the counterpane.
What do You think about George Barnabas - 04 - Fourth Attempt?
