Pennie felt suddenly light, free from the cares of her body. She no longer had any desire for soft cheese and celery spread thin over oat crisp breads; her love of plastic-bottled spring water with a hint of meadow flower faded, and her concerns about the merits of eco-diesel over regular faded like petrol fumes.
“I’m dead, aren’t I?” she said.
“I think the fact that your body’s lying there… and there… and there sort of proves that.” The old man with the whippet on a piece of baling twine smiled and patted her back. “It’s one of life’s little surprises.”
Pennie looked at him. “If I’m dead,” she said, “why am I still randy?”