|
|
| Тема |
 Dear Malcolm, By the time you have received this l |
|
| Автор |
шшшшт! () |
|
| Публикувано | 07.01.05 19:34 |
|
|
|
shall that
much closer to the end of what has become a rail sad and disappointing
existence. But be assured I am i attempting to encourage any sympathy
for myself. I i beyond that and I have come to understand and acc< the
inevitability of my own impending death. Knowi your love of details, I
will tell you that I have be diagnosed as suffering from breast cancer,
a cancer tl has spread too rapidly for there to be any medt rescue. No
handsome young and brilliant doctor s sweep into my hospital room and
work any mag Death's grip is too tight. The Grim Reaper, as Garte used
to say, has his hand firmly about my throat. E enough about me. :
I remarried shortly after leaving Fbxworth Hall' return to Richmond. I
married a doctor, but a sny town general practitioner, whose-patients
often paid-H
++ in jars of fruit and pickles. Despite my money, we
lived a rather simple life in his modest home. In fact, he didn't want
to know about my money. It was always a source of pride for my new,
devoted husband that he be the provider.
So I took your advice and left my fortune in the stock market, but
unfortunately, not being very wise about these matters, I did not
withdraw any of it in time to avoid the famous Black Monday. To put it
simply, I tost all of my fortune in the Depression. Of course, my
husband, being a man of simple tastes, did not mourn this loss.
Shortly after that he passed away from a chronic illness that suddenly
intensified. Being the man that he was, he kept the seriousness of his
illness a secret from me until it was no longer possible for him to do
so.
| |
| |
| 
|
|
