You've got fleas.

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You've got fleas my grandmother said this morning to me. No I don't I said. But she was adamant as she scratched away at herself under her voluminous robe that conceals I don't know what all. She scratched all through breakfast never conceding that the problem might be with her rather than with me. I wasn't scratching but then I wanted to but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. It couldn't be me but I shook out my bed sheet anyway - there's only need for one sheet rather than a whole pile of blankets. There were no fleas. I'm sure she's got bitten by the inhabitants of the dog next door. It's crawling with all sorts and she's forever hugging it. I'm going to douse myself in the river, clothes and all, then I'll dry me and them on the rocks. Grandma needs a good dousing too but I'm not going to be the one to suggest it and I'll surely not be watching.