I find that some people end up taking what life offers and just make the best of it. Others, realising that they have been mugged by life, grab it firmly by the throat, slam it up against a wall and go through its pockets as a way of making sure they get their fair share. To be honest, either way works.
Irmhild Clogchipper was, in spite of the name she somehow acquired on marriage, exceedingly happy. Her husband was a successful merchant and general trader, and together they had four children. Their oldest was their son Rizalan, and then came the two daughters, Marisol and Chesini. Finally they were blessed with a fourth child, their youngest son, Isko. Irmhild was in her forties where disaster struck and her husband, Ernst, disappeared.
Now when we say, ‘disappeared’ it sounds strangely neutral. It might be more appropriate to say that he ‘was…
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