“I wonder why I am always hungry nowadays. I had rather have trouble and hardship like that than be taken care of by others. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. Everything I could do! Your father sat up all night. Sebastian was gone and another doctor came to bleed her, to rid her of the black humors that were causing the plague. Lucy collapsed to the floor in a sob. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. But it would be too risky. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands.
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