She went to great pains while raising the flask and giving it an experimental sniff. The crinkle of her nose suggested (quite unabashedly) that she judged his taste in spirits. She judged it harshly. Too much time spent on the Western Front had brought her into contact with too much bad vodka. But she likely couldn't ask for a better booze to clean her cuts: no pesky sugars and grains getting in the way of its work.

Peggy was sparing when she doused the worst of her wounds. It stung -- perhaps worse than the relocation of her shoulder had done. It was torturous work to tend to her own injuries. Not because she wasn't up to the task, but because the introduction of such sting was easier when done by another hand. It made her long for Mister Jarvis's company, for he had a steady hand and a good bedside manner.

"--I trust you can spare a mouthful more for the patient?"