I Can Give You a Real Home

"What ails my physique?" Marigold gestured toward herself, her countenance brimming with perplexity. "You seem excessively alarmed. Am I not in good health?"

Brian sprang up from the bed in a single motion, hastily donning his attire. He pressed Marigold down onto the bed, then handed her the milk brought to the bedside, carefully securing the lid on the cup, as if she were a fragile little babe.

"If we are to embark on the orphanage's thorough cleansing shortly, I implore you to remain within these chambers, obediently abiding. Do you comprehend? I shall manage on my own. There is no need for you to toil."

"I do not require such coddling. Throughout these many days, I have been tirelessly engaged in cleaning and laboring. Truly, something is amiss with you. Should not the state of my own body be more discernible to me than to you?"