Near tears in his mortification, Edward at last removed his palms from his blazing face. Eyes downcast upon the immaculate tile beneath his bare feet, he bit his lip and cleaned up awkwardly, scarcely daring to breathe, let alone speak. He reached blindly for the chain, but one of the girls pulled it for him.
“Very good, sir,” she said approvingly as water from the great gurgling tank swirled away his unwholesome shame.
The other sister patted his tousled head as one might a dog, and with the gentle yet somehow teasing touch of her soft fingertips beneath the flesh of his upper arm she urged him back to his feet. The redheads then guided the defeated boy to the great steaming bathtub of enameled cast iron that sat upon its four stately clawed feet. After the ignominy of the process with
