"But, Bob, it smells like garbage."
"Medicine smells worse and it makes you healthy," Bob said, while
stirring the pot with an old wooden spoon.
Bonnie held her nose, stood on tiptoe and looked in at the cooking
solution. "Will this make us healthy?"
"Maybe." Bob kept stirring.
"What will it do?"
"You'll see." Bob took two clean dish towels, draped them around the
pot and carried it over to the formica kitchen table. In the process,
he managed to dip both towels in the mixture and burn his already
sliced thumb. One plastic handle of the pot was still smoldering, from
being too near the fire, but none of these things seemed to have the
slightest effect on him. He put the pot down in the middle of the table
and stared at it, chin in hand.
Bonnie plopped down opposite him, put her chin in her hands and asked,
"We _have_ to drink that stuff?"
"Yup."
"Who has to drink it first?" Bob made no sign of having heard. "I
thought so," said Bonnie. Still no comment. "What if it kills me?"
Bobby spoke by raising his whole head and keeping his jaw stationary
in his hands. "How can it hurt you? There's nothing but pure food in
there."