There was a small trickle, a very small trickle coming from the corner of her mouth.

‘That can’t be dangerous,’ he told himself, ‘she should have five litres of the stuff.’

So he got her onto the backseat, trying not to bump her head on the ceiling of the car and drove home.

‘The least I can do after giving you a fright like that,’ he said, putting her down on the bed, ‘I’ll just take the sofa, no worries.’

But she did not seem any better the next day. He could not make her eat even a single spoonful of oatmeal. He still had to leave for work, so he told her to just eat whatever she liked, if she got hungry during the day.

‘Maybe there’s something wrong with her head,’ he thought, ‘I hope that wasn’t my fault.’

Two days later, he thought she needed a bath, but it would be much too improper for him to help her, so he asked the neighbour for help. The neighbour screamed her head off for an extended period when she saw the corpse in his bed. Then she called the police.

‘But it was just a small bump,’ he said when they brought him in, ‘it hardly scratched the polish.’


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