She scrutinised her patient again.
Mrs. Fleming hadn’t had a bad day in all the past fortnight, not since Colonel Fleming’s last letter. And she was such a sweet lady, you did want to bring a smile to those large mournful eyes.
‘You don’t believe me, Nurse, do you?’ She’d exclaimed sadly one afternoon. ‘I really did write novels and stories and have them published before I moved on to higher things. Maud Diver, you know who I mean, don’t you? The famous novelist, we’ve been friends ever since we were girls.’ And rummaging along her little bookcase, Mrs. Fleming picked out a copy of Maud Diver’s The Amulet. It opened at the printed inscription, ‘This book is dedicated to Trix Fleming in memory of Dalhousie days.’
It’d been a shame to see her dab her eyes.
Delving into her bag where the
