Ain't he sweet?" asked Mary.
"Jus' a Precious Child! Let him mark on my slate."
Mickey hurried to the room. As he neared the door he stepped softly and
peeped inside. It was a problem with him as to how far Mary and Bobbie
could be trusted. Having been with Peaches every day he could not
accurately mark improvements, but he could see that her bones did not
protrude so far, that her skin was not the yellow, glisteny horror it had
been, that the calloused spots were going under the steady rubbing of
nightly oil massage, so lately he had added the same treatment to her
feet; if they were not less bony, if the skin were not soft and taking on
a pinkish colour, Mickey felt that his eyes were unreliable.
Surely she was better! Of course she was better! She had to be! She ate
more, she sat up longer, she moved her feet where first they had hung
helpless. She was better, much better, and for that especial reason, now
was the time to watch closer than before. Now he must make sure that a big
strong child did not drag her from the bed, and forever undo all he had
gained.
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