Dearest Diary, Day nineteen:
Awoke to a mumbled entreaty from
Cotter, whom I discovered hovering an inch from my pillows. Deuced
fellow gave me a start. He declared that the cellar is low on Bolly.
I reminded him that there's a war on, that we must all make
sacrifices, and that he of all people should know better than to
complain since he has already lost two of his sons to the Kaiser's
ambitions. The cheek of the man! We must make do with the Crystal.
After he'd placed my slippers on my
feet I waved him away to the servants' stairs, whence he beetled back
to the scullery.
Corkers says the Bosch are on the back
foot, and that it's only a matter of time until Haig sallies through
the Hindenburg Line.
Cavendish continues the mercury baths
with the assistance of my man, Cotter, who reports the devil of a
time getting his legs into the tub. He's become quite rigid.
No comments:
Post a Comment