To-day the sky is like a pale egg-shell, and aeroplanes from the two aerodromes are droning round the hill.
I think from time to time, "Is he alive?"
Can one grow used to death? It is unsafe to think of this....
For if death becomes cheap it is the watcher, not the dying, who is poisoned.
His mother buys a cake every day and brings it at tea-time, saying, "For the Sisters' tea...."
It is a bribe, dumbly offered, more to be on the safe side of every bit of chance than because she really believes it can make the slightest difference.
Now that I have time to think of it, her little action hurts me, but yesterday I helped to eat it with pleasure because one is hungry and the margarine not the best.
Aches and pains....
Pains and aches....
I don't know how to get home up the long hill....
Measles....