(no subject)

Danny was reading a biography of Cleopatra at dinner tonight. I'm not entirely sure why he chose her for his biography book report -- he said something about Roald Dahl, but I don't know how the two are connected. I noticed him looking a little flushed as he got into the last chapter; he said the light was bad. A couple of minutes later he closed the cover over the last page and put his head in his hands.

"Honey?" I said gently.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, neatly cutting off the question I'd been about to ask. I changed tack slightly. "Were you a little surprised that she died at the end?"

He looked up at me with a stunned expression. "How did you know?"

"I've read the story of Cleopatra before," I assured him lightly.

"They killed themselves," he said, shaken and mournful.

Poor kid. Maybe I should have warned him.