A Month At the Shore
“Her eyes were puffy and red, and her white hair had broken free in places from the bun that usually held it together on the back of her head. The tears had obviously gone on for a while: a mound of crumpled wet tissues covered most of the square oak table next to the sofa, and the Kleenex box was on the floor, empty. On a low wooden table in front of the sofa, a plate held the remains of curled orange peels, a half-full glass of milk, another plate with some saltine crackers on it, and a bottle... of gin without a glass to pour it into.
Miss Widdich had clearly been having a very bad day.
She seated herself on the moss-colored sofa and then commanded Ken to sit down. Her voice was thick, maybe with drink, probably with emotion.
Ken chose a straight-backed wooden chair, the least comfortable one in the near-dark room; he did not want to get overly cozy with the woman. Nonetheless, she looked so ill-used that it was easy for him to sound sympathetic.MoreLess
Miss Widdich had clearly been having a very bad day.
She seated herself on the moss-colored sofa and then commanded Ken to sit down. Her voice was thick, maybe with drink, probably with emotion.
Ken chose a straight-backed wooden chair, the least comfortable one in the near-dark room; he did not want to get overly cozy with the woman. Nonetheless, she looked so ill-used that it was easy for him to sound sympathetic.MoreLess
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