I lay as quietly as circumstances would allow whilst she brewed her witches’ broth.
“What dreams may come.”
“Hush, do keep quiet.”
“Mind you give me enough.”
“I shall give you the same dose he does, a quarter of a grain.”
“It won’t stop it this time.”
“Oh, yes! it will.”
She gave the injection as well, or better than Dr. Kennedy. I hardly felt the prick, and when she rubbed the place, so cleverly and gently, she almost made a suffragist of me. Women who did things so well deserved the vote.
“Do you want the vote?” I asked her feebly.
“I want you to lie quite still,” was her inappropriate answer. I seemed to be wasting words. The room was slowly filling with the scent of flowers. When I shut my eyes I saw growing pots of hyacinth, then lilies, floating in deep glass bowls, afterwards Suzanne came in, and began folding up my clothes, in her fat lethargic way.