Another knock on the door. Actually, more of a tap…
How can a knock on the door sound hesitant?
It does…
Then a voice, quavering. A familiar voice. “Larry?”
“Hello, Georgie. The door’s open.”
“Hi.” Faltering in the doorway, a bunch of flowers in one hand, a brown-paper bag in the other, she shifts from one foot to the other. “Can I come in?”
Able to sit up comfortably at last, I’m finding the world a friendlier place. “Be my guest.” But as she draws closer…
What’s wrong with her?
Georgie’s dark eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, are stark against a face pale way beyond her usual appearance. She’s pallid to the point of waxen. Her long, dark hair, normally one of her most attractive features, hangs slack and lacklustre.
She’s normally an attractive woman. Not now.
Do I ask?
Where’s Mitc
