“As was observed some three thousand years ago, news has wings and is uncontrollable by mortals, or even by the gods. And that was when they didn’t even have telephones. One thing about it: I was spared the humiliation of telling people myself. Even the conductress on the number thirteen bus knew, and condoled with me in her own individual fashion. There wasn’t a man on earth, she assured me, who was worth crying over: she didn’t care if it was the Emperor of Timbuctoo himself, a girl was be...tter off without him. She could tell me some—and she did, too. The bus was pretty empty that morning, and we had gone right through her own two husbands and had just begun on the character old enough to be her daughter’s grandfather when we reached my stop, and I had, regretfully, to get off. She had made me feel better. Better able to face the two heavy-eyed daughters who greeted me on my return home—if “greet” is the word for a lugubrious confrontation in which Sarah asked me if I had seen the postman down the road, and Janice remarked that I had bought liver again, didn’t I remember that she hated liver?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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