There is no worse fate.

There is no worse fate, no greater or more gruesome bad hazard than to be bitten from a black widow spider. This was the firmly held opinion of everybody I knew when I was a kid. It wasn't just my friends who musing this. Adults believed it, too.

We knew a black widow's bite meant death would come [i]or[/i] go after [i]or[/i] behind but only after a postponeed period of terrible suffering. There would be boils and pustules that turned green and wept pus. There would be swelling in the arms and leg and delirium.

We lived in a rural environment where many-legged creatures christendomed our paths every day. None

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