At least Greta had not deserted me. She made me meals and brought them up to my room several times a day, along with a newspaper for me every morning. But as much as I appreciate my housekeeper’s efforts, there were times when I wasn’t sure if it was pneumonia or her cooking that was doing me in. Somehow, her food was worse than ever. Her soups have been bland and flavorless. Barely edible, actually. But regardless, I ate them whenever I woke up and found a steaming bowl on my writing table.
