I misspoke. Eydie's temp continues above 100 F. Miss Baby is *ill.* However, once it dropped to just a little above 100 F, she dragged herself out of bed and started pushing paper.
I am in awe. In bed. Lying down. In awe.
"You sure you don't have a temperature?" she asks occasionally, the 'then why are you still lying down?' left unsaid. It's hard to be just a little sick around a fallen hero, a stalwart, one of the indefatigables. So I got up and went out and got her some orange juice, fresh-squeezed, the Thing Itself.
She just passed by, shufflin' but truckin'. Think a Roadrunner who goes, "Beep beep. (Cough cough.)"
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