Out of the Fryingpan

My own aches foretold interrupted sleep, it was true, but listening to Watson's small coughs deepen into the kind of painful barking which was more common to winter than the milder weather guaranteed that I would lie completely restless on my pillow. At last I heard him stumbling down the stairs and abandoned any consideration for his pride. I found him in the sitting room, fumbling with kindling and coal. "I just need to get warm," he told me, though his face was flushed, and his eyes feverbright.

"Of course you do," I said, and knelt to build the fire.

Out of the Fryingpan

My own aches foretold interrupted sleep, it was true, but listening to Watson's small coughs deepen into the kind of painful barking which was more common to winter than the milder weather guaranteed that I would lie completely restless on my pillow. At last I heard him stumbling down the stairs and abandoned any consideration for his pride. I found him in the sitting room, fumbling with kindling and coal. "I just need to get warm," he told me, though his face was flushed, and his eyes feverbright.

"Of course you do," I said, and knelt to build the fire.