[She seems caught off guard by how easily the stranger seems to read her. Margaret opens her mouth, then closes it again, eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise.]

Well, you— [She stutters, hesitant to tell him what she sees. She was always told to be mindful when it came to patients who were showing signs of addiction or withdrawal. You never knew how they were going to react—some men had more delicate egos than others, and would throw a fit over the mere implication that they might have a problem. But this man seems to be openly welcoming her observations, so she proceeds.] —you…if you don’t mind me saying, sir, you just…look unwell. You seem tired, your hands are trembling, and you’re very pale.

[A pause.]

If you aren’t sick from a viral infection, then…may I ask if you’ve been taking any sort of medication lately?

[She studies him further, brow knitting together in thought. Most of the men from the town are full-blooded Americans, but this man speaks with a British accent. But she hasn’t seen him before, and he certainy wasn’t at the neighborhood “meeting” a few weeks ago.]

How did you know that I had military experience? In medicine, no less?

[As if she can be read as anything else.]