“Master John, I have brought you your tea.”
She puts something down that clinks.
“Thanks.”
“Did you have a nice sleep?”
“No.”
“Would you like a nice cup o’ tea, Master John?”
Was everything nice and like her religion, comfortable?
“All right, Nan.”
He was being very good. Tea drinking was a vice in some walks of life, and in tea there was tannin, a harmful drug. But he was blind, he could not see. And the pain. So that he was like a blind worm in a fire, squirming, squirming to get out.
“Nice hot tea. You love your tea, don’t you, Nan?”