It felt incredibly good to stretch without that terrible aching in her joints, as if she were rotting away from the inside out. She turned her head lazily and surveyed Greg's room with interest. It was tastefully furnished, with rich, dark wood coloured in the furniture, and light blue carpeting. Come to think of it, she thought, everything in Greg's house was plush and of the first quality. She liked that. It was nice how her taste and his seemed to coincide so often. Greg came through the doorway right then, his eyes smiling down at her when he saw the sanity in her clear eyes. 'Hello, madam. Are you feeling any better today?' 'Lord, much,' she said calmly, sending him a sweet smile in return. 'I have this horrible feeling, though, that when I try to stand up I'll be as weak as a kitten.' 'You were a very sick little girl,' he told her, sitting down on the bed and offering her a glass of juice. She saw that it was orange juice, and she couldn't stand orange juice, so she put it on the bedside table.
