Wednesday, March 4, 2009
EB woke up with a start when I walked in this morning. She explained in a fragile voice from under the covers as I opened the curtains that "my bed is wet... but I'll clean myself up." I started to scold but meanwhile patted her sheets, and found they were dry. I touched her cheeks, belly, hands -- all hot to my fingertips. Fever. And we leave for Bologna tomorrow.
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