Fewer happy jokes were cracked as she went about her duties. She was mannerless in her indifference to his jumbled baby talk. Single words that he now struggled to pronounce he achieved only by an exhausting concentration of effort. Rose watched her. ‘I wonder does he get his rights,’ she said darkly. ‘She choked my fish down him in five minutes, that way she wouldn’t miss the post with her letter … his foot was stiff with the cold and she wouldn’t go to the kettle for a hot jar … would he have bed-sores, I wonder? … Do you get a heavy smell from him ever? You should speak to the doctor, Miss Aroon.’ Dr Coffey came to see Papa every Thursday, and sometimes more often. He told him about hunting and how many snipe were in the bogs. I caught him hurrying through the hall one morning. In his leisurely patience with Papa one felt he had no other calls on his time, or none so important. ‘How is he today, Dr Coffey?’ ‘We can’t expect much change yet.
