“The best thing I can do for you, Moth, is give you a diagnosis.” No, no, no, no, no. Don’t say anymore, don’t speak, something awful is going to fall out of your smug, tight lips, don’t open them, don’t speak. “I believe you have corticobasal degeneration, CBD. We can’t be absolutely certain about the diagnosis. There is no test, so we’ll only know at postmortem.”
