I went into the room and found Margaret sitting up in bed, pulling a plastic comb through her hair.

I took a clean cloth from the washstand and wiped a thin film of dust off the window frame by the bed.

“You look like a man who just lost a vestry vote,” Margaret said, setting the comb down on her nightstand.

“The board froze my discretionary fund,” I said.

“They’ve put me on administrative review.”

Margaret let out a short laugh that became a soft cough.

“Arthur always was a cheap villain.”