Chapter Thirty-One
Mordecai lay in his bed, propped up on two pillows. He was bored, but an attempt to read had ended in failure; the letters had marched across the page in all directions, evading his attempts to decipher them.
Phelps had told him not to worry, that his head would be right before the week was out, but Mordecai was worried. What if he could never read again?
A knock sounded on the door. Phelps opened it. Mordecai heard the murmur of voices—and then a most unexpected person walked into the room. For a moment he thought his eyes were deceiving him—I’m seeing things that don’t exist—and then the apparition spoke: “Hello, Black.”
“Cosgrove?” Mordecai said, astonished. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Came up to Exeter on business. Heard you’d been laid up. Took a few b
