Mira had cried a lot. It seemed like she was crying all the time now. The red-and-black nurses had boxed her ears fiercely for her and told her she was naughty as they wrestled her into the bedding and sewed her up within it. Nanna Mimi was not there to brush her hair for her, and Mama did not come in to give her a goodnight kiss as she had been doing lately. It was just her and Byram, sulking silently beside her as they stitched them up together.
“Stop wriggling,” he grunted. He was grumpy. The stitching down the middle of the bed, separating them under the covers, pulled the blankets tight and made it hard to get comfortable. The sewing came right up around the top until it was pulled up like a necklace around her throat and she was all hot and sweaty under the covers. She thrashed her
