“Did Suzanne give you that?” she asked suspiciously.
“She has not been in my room since you left me.”
“That’s the very parcel you asked for the other night. How ever did you get hold of it?”
“After you left me I got out of bed and fetched it.”
“You got out of bed!” She grew red in the face with rage or incredulity.
“Yes, twice. Once for the parcel and once for the scissors!”
She did not speak at once, standing there with her flushed face. So I went on:
“It is absurd for you to insist on me doing this or that, or leaving it undone. You are here to take care of me, not to bully and tyrannise over me.”
“I am no good to you at all. I’d better go. You will take matters into your own hands. I never knew such a patient, never. One would think you’d no sense at all, that you didn’t know how ill you were.”
“That is no reason why I should not be allowed to get better. Believe me, the only way for that to come about is that I should be allowed to lead my own life in my own way.”