Mrs. Brennen showed us the kitchen, where a dozen older women were busy preparing all sorts of delicious food. At first glance, the place seemed to be in complete chaos — people shouting, running back and forth — but after watching for a while, I realized how well-coordinated they all were, how smoothly their movements fit together like clockwork.
Next, we went down a set of stairs to the laundry room, where piles of unwashed dishes were stacked high. The next stop was the washhouse, where heaps of clothes, linens, and rags were gathered. The air was thick with the sharp scent of disinfectant, and after a few minutes I began to feel cold — it was freezing down there. The cellar was nearby as well, with one room storing food supplies, and another lined with shelves of dusty wine bottles — perhaps hundreds of them.
