No, not on his guitar, that was too obvious. He’d surprise me by learning the... bassoon.
Yes, he’d play the melody on the bassoon for me. Back to more prosaic matters.
For want of anything more suitable, I bought some newspapers and magazines for Sammy,
thinking that I could at least read them aloud to him. They stocked a passable selection.
From his appearance and the contents of his shopping bag, I divined that Sammy was more Daily Star than Daily Telegraph.
I bought a few tabloids, and decided to take him a magazine too. That was more difficult.
There were so many. Condé Nast Traveler, Yachts and Yachting, Now!—how would I know which one to choose?
I had no idea what interested him. I thought carefully and rationally in order to deduce the answer.
The only thing I knew for sure about him was that he was an adult male; anything else would be pure speculation.
I went with the law of averages, stood on tiptoe and reached up for a copy of Playboy. Job done.
It was too hot inside the hospital and the floors squeaked.
There was a hand-gel dispenser outside the ward, and a big yellow sign above it read Do Not Drink.
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