Having spent the last two weeks at my mother's house, coughing deeply and majestically over everything, it seems desperately unfair that, despite making it back to Cornwall a few days ago, I am still ill and sounding increasingly like an tubercular orphan in a Dickens novel. I may even have to go to the doctor's, come Monday, if I keep struggling
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And I'm not even drinking any whiskey :):)
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It's okay if you are not drinking whisky: I will drink some for you! I know; it is a sacrifice I am making here, I tell you.
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