He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself
> from the bed. Leaning on the wall, he slowly made his way
> out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the
> railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
>
> With laboured breath, he leaned against the
> door-frame, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death's
> agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for
> there, spread out upon the kitchen table were
> literally hundreds of his favourite scones.
>
> Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his
> devoted Irish wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left
> this world a happy man?
>
> Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself
> towards the table, landing on his knees in rumpled posture.
> His aged and withered hand trembled towards a scone at the
> edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked by his wife
> with a wooden spoon ......
> .........
>
> .........
>
> F**k off' she said, 'they're for the funeral.'
> from the bed. Leaning on the wall, he slowly made his way
> out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the
> railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
>
> With laboured breath, he leaned against the
> door-frame, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death's
> agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for
> there, spread out upon the kitchen table were
> literally hundreds of his favourite scones.
>
> Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his
> devoted Irish wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left
> this world a happy man?
>
> Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself
> towards the table, landing on his knees in rumpled posture.
> His aged and withered hand trembled towards a scone at the
> edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked by his wife
> with a wooden spoon ......
> .........
>
> .........
>
> F**k off' she said, 'they're for the funeral.'
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