The second formal outfit had a collar. I hadn't noticed this the night before, because the night before it had been hanging on a door and minding its own business. This morning it was around my neck, and it had opinions.
"Stop touching it," said Sorel.
"It's touching me."
"It's a collar."
"It's a hostile collar."
She had come at dawn to check my chest and then my pulse, and then stayed to watch me dress, apparently on the assumption that I would otherwise attend a historic treaty signing in whatever I had slept in. The assumption was fair. That didn't make it pleasant. When I was finished she looked me over from boots to hair and made a small, professional sound.
"You'll do."
"That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me this week."
"It isn't a compliment. It's a medical opinion." She picked up her bag. "Two hours standing. If you feel faint, don't lock your knees. That's how people faint."
"I wasn't planning to faint."
