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August 29, 2008
My grandfather didnít feel well in the night. He woke up my grandmother and asked her to make him a cup of tea, that English panacea. He went to sit in his special chair, the one no-one else ever sat in, to await the tea. When my grandmother brought it in, he was dead. My father said that his father died the way he lived: a Victorian gentleman. Itís true, and Iím still glad to think that he was in his favorite chair, waiting for his beloved wife to bring him tea, happy and safe before he simply drifted away.