Twelfth Night
“—Macbeth, III, iv, 38 The next morning was grey and dull, with a thick, muffling fog creeping through the countryside, settling in hollows and wreathing hills until all was quiet and still. But inside the Abbey pandemonium reigned.
“It’s the oysters,” Morag told me with grim satisfaction. “They had a bad lot and every member of the family is down with it.”
“With what?” I demanded, still fatigued from my marital exertions. Brisbane was a very thorough husband.
“Poisoning,” she said, ...her voice tart. “What I just told you. They’re all down sick with the oysters. The village doctor has been and said they’ll all be right as rain once they’ve heaved it all out, but in the meanwhile, the maids and footmen are run off their feet with slop buckets and rags and—” I felt my stomach give a lurch.
“That’s enough, Morag. One does not require the unsavoury details. I suppose Cook isn’t doing breakfast, then?”MoreLess
“It’s the oysters,” Morag told me with grim satisfaction. “They had a bad lot and every member of the family is down with it.”
“With what?” I demanded, still fatigued from my marital exertions. Brisbane was a very thorough husband.
“Poisoning,” she said, ...her voice tart. “What I just told you. They’re all down sick with the oysters. The village doctor has been and said they’ll all be right as rain once they’ve heaved it all out, but in the meanwhile, the maids and footmen are run off their feet with slop buckets and rags and—” I felt my stomach give a lurch.
“That’s enough, Morag. One does not require the unsavoury details. I suppose Cook isn’t doing breakfast, then?”MoreLess
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