‘How kind,’ said Katrina, wondering just why he was doing that, and planning to bake a batch of her almond biscuits which sold so well at village functions. The news wasn’t good, but hopefully she would get the chance to ask him what exactly was happening. Surely there was something, some treatment—a blood transfusion—to halt her aunt’s illness.
‘Well, don’t look so glum,’said Aunt Thirza, once more her brisk self. ‘He’s rather nice. Now, let’s get a bus to Oxford Street.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE teatowels were bought, and furnished a splendid excuse to roam around John Lewis, looking at the latest goods on show.
‘What a good thing that we live in the country and don’t need to dress up,’ said Aunt Thirza, leading the way to the restaurant. And Katrina, with a last lingering look at the pretty clothes she was never likely to possess, followed her. They didn’t mention the professor over their sandwiches and coffee, and Katrina, seeing her aunt’s tired face, declared that she had a splitting headache and would Aunt Thirza mind awfully if they caught the earlier train home?
On Sunday morning Katrina got up early to make the almond biscuits, set a tray with the best china and the silver spoons, fed Betsy, and then took a cup of tea to her aunt. Her suggestion that her aunt might like her breakfast in bed called forth a snappy response. Breakfast in bed was only for those too lazy to get up, who should be ashamed of themselves, or in case of necessity—illness, or a broken leg or something similar. ‘And I’m not hungry—just tea and toast. I’ll be down in half an hour.’
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