Her legs squirmed in the chair, more uncomfortable than usual with her hands firmly underneath. Usual, for the urchin, had gotten worse and worse over the last few days. Maybe that should have told her something earlier, but she could be forgiven for not keeping track of the days in August. An itch or two was normal, comforting really. Scratching something felt good, just so long as she didn't really dig in hard. A little scratch brought in sweet relief, something pleasant on a hungry day or when there was nothing else to do.

Lately, it seemed like all Charley was doing was scratching.

"I was thinking I en't got it bad, everyone's got itches," she was saying. It did help to talk about it, in a way. She wasn't scratching, or thinking much about scratching. But talking about itching meant thinking about scratching in a roundabout way, so Charley tried to talk fast to get through it. "But then I hear about the mange. And about some poor bloke's dog that's got the mange and he keeled right over one day, deader than a doornail."

She shook her head, nearly dislodging the cap tucked firm around her ears. It itched there too, and around her neck, at the tip of her nose, and even on top of her knees. Charley squirmed again, trying to keep her hands firmly underneath her. "I don't wanna keel over."

Charley could hear the quiver in her own voice, and she buttoned her lip. Not today, she told herself.

Not on her birthday.

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