Eva: Ouch, and Confound it All
I was, indeed, rather angered with him. In fact, when I contrived to get him before me I greeted him by way of a roar. ‘Limbane! How could you!’
I wanted to make a roar of it, that is, but since I was still flat on my back in a white-blanketed infirmary bed and suffering the agonising discomfort of a deeply-torn wound in my side, it emerged more as a hoarse whisper. Nonetheless, I believe he received the desired impression: I was most seriously displeased.
‘How could I what?’ he said, characteristically uncomprehending. Perhaps he thought I would be pleased, dear soul.
(Which is not to say that it was not kind of him to visit me. I had not expected it. I give him due credit for not being entirely heartless).
‘Secrets!’ I bellowed (softly). ‘You could not
