Aunt Haygood napped in a nearby chair, her tatting forgotten on her lap. Miss Sedgewicke read more of Southey's poem aloud, her voice low and melodious. Robert swung his booted feet to the floor. For the past week, Jenny had coaxed him downstairs to the sofa every day. Mrs. Abernathy's good cooking had been tasty and filling, and he could feel his energy returning. He was becoming adept at eating with his left hand. But would he ever feel whole again? Jenny closed the book and looked at him. "Would you like to start practicing writing today? I know you're feeling blue-devilled, but you must find the strength to go on. You cannot live out the rest of your days on the sofa." He saw the clear gray eyes regarding him with mild reproof. Robert knew she was right. He needed to pull himself out of the quagmire of self-pity he was drowning in. "Go get paper and pen, then. I'll give it a try." He was rewarded with a warm smile. Jenny ran to the desk where the writing materials lay. "I don't mean to come the tyrant over you.
