Lillian followed Florence down the hall. Though numb and shivering, she took in the pretty paper and paintings adorning the walls.
Florence directed Lillian into her bedroom. ‘That’s a nasty cut you have on your arm,’ she pointed out. ‘It might need stitches.’
Lillian twisted her elbow around for a better look. Now she was safe, the wound had begun to sting. The girl’s bedroom reminded her of Olivia’s, though not to the same scale. A floral quilt covered the bed. There was even a small writing desk beneath the window.
‘I’ll get a dressing. You can have some privacy,’ Florence said and left.
In the silence, having shed her soaking blouse and drawers, Lillian tried to gather her thoughts. She had made the right decision to come to the Hamiltons for help. They were kind people who would n
