Ask before you sign anything.

I read both of them about six times.

Margaret Henderson was eighty-nine when she died.

She had been a careful woman and a slightly difficult one and she had lived in the same small white house on Oak Street since 1961.

She had worked at Pfaff’s bakery on and off for thirty-one years and she had never in her life, as far as I knew, had anything that needed protecting.

And she had written my name in a bank book in pencil and told me not to let her own son take it to a bank.