Some nights Becky creeps into her room, or Sara into Becky's, when the winter nights grow colder than they can stand alone, with their empty stomachs rumbling in the lonely darkness. Sometimes they huddle under the sheets, holding each other tight.
Sometimes they tell each other stories, Sara the most. She invents all kinds of tales, tells stories of India and elephants and long forgotten Princes. She imagines everything and Becky cannot help but find herself in awe.
Sometimes they don't talk, merely sharing each other's warmth and wondering what Miss Minchin would say if she found them up here like this.
Sometimes they fall asleep, but they always wake up clinging to each other's hands.