'The Skull Beneath The Skin: The Nearness of Death in History' by Not A L Berridge
My husband has a cold. The house reeks of eucalyptus, the bins are full of tissues, and the air is loud with complaint. My sympathy of Day One has eroded into the irritation of Day Four, and it’s only a matter of time before I say, ‘Well, you’re not actually dying, are you?’ But of course that’s a m ...
