Simone's Monologue

I've never seen him go with friends, or to the café, so I can't complain. Plus, he pays cash on the nail! I don't have to ask.” Behind the window-panes, the sun had lowered, warning Jeanne that she had better say her goodbyes to Simone, if she wanted to attend the evening service at the convent. On her way out, Simone exclaimed: “I almost forgot, I told Thibault, that's my tenant, to pay you a visit at the dispensary. The lad has a nasty cold that won't go away, despite my teas. I'm worried perhaps it's the flue, and my God, I can't have the kids, or me get sick. I sure can't miss work, you see. I'll make sure he stops by you, on his way home tomorrow, if it's alright with you.” accordingly, when the bells rang at four the following afternoon, Jeanne operating alongside sister Marie-Benoîte in the dispensary was eagerly watching for Thibault.
Almost everyone in the village and around had been at one time or another, in the care of sister Marie-Benoîte, or herself and yet, she had never seen or heard about this man. It was rather rare for someone not to have been sick in two years. Since it was such a dreadful winter, indeed one of the coldest and snowy in the region, most of the patients both women had attended so far, were afflicted with typical seasonal illnesses. They had kept busy dispensing medicaments, as well as applying mustard poultice to a good number of congested chests. The smell of camphor, lavender and mustard had annihilated the sour emanations of unkempt, sickly bodies. Because so many patients were coughing, sneezing, and children crying, she did not hear her name being