This preview shows page 1. Sign up to view the full content.
Unformatted text preview: years and years. Or was that old Harry? Oh, Lord, Julien, why have I lived this long? For what? What am I doing? There was the white wall of the cemetery. "Come on, young Hanky, be a nice boy and cross me over. I have to go," she said. "Ancient Evelyn, please let me drive you home. Let me call your grandson-in-law." "That sot, you twit!" She turned on him full face. "I'm going to hit you with this walking stick." She laughed in spite of herself at the idea of it, and he laughed too. "But ma'am, aren't you tired? Don't you want to rest? Come back into the florist shop and rest." She felt too weary suddenly to say another word. Why speak? They never listened. She planted her feet on the corner and held tight to her cane with both hands and stared down the leafy corridor of Washington Avenue. The best oaks in the city, she often thought, all the way to the river. Should she give up? Something was terribly wrong, terribly terribly wrong, and her mission, what had it been?...
View Full Document
This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10