“Alone, dear?” “Yes, aunt. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. “The smallest will do for me quite well. No matter how swiftly he pursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. It slid off flimsily. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. They had shared almost seventy five wonderful years there in nearly utter seclusion before it came time to move on. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. “My Mom was a good lady.
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