Enid applied the dittany. Was Nigel Yarwood wincing at it? Enid stifled a smile, endeared. For the first time, perhaps ever, she found herself thinking that Nigel Yarwood was a normal person.

The cut knitted itself together in front of her eyes, becoming a faint pink line. "There we go," Enid said, giving the line an affectionate tap with her index finger. "Not too bad, yes? Are you ready for breakfast?" Her tone was bright and enthusiastic; Enid was obviously pleased with her work.