Not a sound.
| I |
n Stratford, the plague moved down Mill Lane, Butt Lane, Rother Street, jumped to Henley and then Church Street. Father and I worked on Mill Lane: finding Charles collapsed by the whipping post, we lugged him out of the sun...shivering...sweating...vomiting...and we could not find anything to cover him, and he begged us for a cover.
“Something to cover me, Will...just something?”
“But there’s nothing left for you.”
“Everything used up?”
“All used, Charles.”
“So many of us sick?”
“Lie still. I’ll bring you hot sack. That’ll help you feel better...there’s a rug...”
“I’ll see if I can find something to cover him.”