Joan Bailey, wheeling round the table, had laid the packages on it. “I hope you’ll be comfortable. Do let me know if you need anything else. I would light the fire for you, but the chimneys haven’t been swept for generations—I’m afraid you’d suffocate with smoke, or else we’d set the whole house on fire. Are you warm enough?” Maud, animated, assured her that they were. There was a faint flash of colour in her ivory cheeks. As though the cold brought out her proper life, as though she were at home in it.
