I have been waiting and working towards this climax for six weeks. SIX WEEKS! I kid you not. It's been hard going - I've had to concentrate on this to the exclusion of all else, and to be quite honest, I can't remember any other book taking me quite so long to finish. Tomalin's biography of Sam Pepys, it was. Actually, and the reason why I am gnashing my teeth with desperation, still is. Having got to within striking distance of the end (and the good thing about a well-researched piece of non-fiction, is that the end comes a good deal sooner than you expect, because of the references! Took up a good half-inch at the back of this book, they did), I carried it with me wherever I went, just on the off-chance of reading a sentence or two.
ANYWAY. Pepys's health fails, he moves out to the country (Clapham!), he snuffs it! (Ahhh). He's autopsied (ugh) and the provisions of his will are explained, and . . . .
Dunno. Lost the bloody book, haven't I.