“The day after he was buried, my stepmother brought out two heavy winter overcoats for me to try on, and then she and my older brother and I went to the storeroom above the garage, and she showed me a brown leather suitcase of my father’s, a much more expensive piece of luggage than I had ever owned. None of this was my idea, but I nevertheless could feel on my face an expression of embarrassment, as if I had been caught out in something. My stepmother was not given to thinking ill of people but... when my brother and I were children he had assumed the role of the prosecuting attorney. I glanced at his face now; nothing unkind there. The coats wouldn’t have fitted him, or my younger brother, and since I was named after my father, the initials on the suitcase were mine, and who would want a suitcase with somebody else’s initials on it? So why did I feel that I had appeared to be showing a too avid interest in the spoils? Later on that afternoon I started out on foot to call on two of my father’s friends who were not well enough to come to the funeral.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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