Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Death and Her Welcoming Arms

I have the flu. I feel grotty (thank you British people for such a perfect word), am coughing all over everything and every joint in my body aches. Death sounds like a long, lovely nap. Alas, what is a Betty to do?

"...fresh lemonade, nourishing broth and...nothing, nothing else at all. Won't hurt a butt...BIT, I mean, bit."
One of the nicest things about The Canon is that there is a book for every malady, and "Matilda's Wedding" is the best one about the flu. It's got everything--heroic self-denial, slipping into a faint, shots on the bum(!). Of course, there are nicer parts too:
 

Matilda Paige, aware that she was being studied, watched the man on the other side of the desk in her turn. A very large man, in his thirties, she guessed. Handsome, with a commanding nose and a thin mouth and hooded eyes and dark hair streaked with silver. She had no intention of being intimidated by him but she thought that anyone timid might be. A calm, quiet girl by nature, she saw no reason to stand in awe of him. Besides, since the moment she had set eyes on him, not half an hour ago, she had fallen in love with him...