The Smouldering Flame. Anne Mather

somewhat creased perhaps, but freshly laundered. With a rueful smile, she left the room again, switching out the light as she went.

      Shannon’s door was ajar, and through the crack she could see a lamp had been lighted beside his bed. She pushed the door a little wider, wincing as it squeaked a little, and looked in. At first she thought he was asleep, but he had heard her because he turned his head against the pillows, and said harshly: ‘You’d better come in.’