Arthur thanked him and hung up.

He looked at me over the top of his glasses.

“He was arranging a new address before he served you papers.”

“Who is the condo for?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

By one o’clock the hospital room smelled of antiseptic and old flowers.

Margaret was propped up on two pillows, her gray hair flat on one side.

“You look like you swallowed a spoon,” she said.