She always felt she was to blame.
The old lady told me her name was Mrs Ashby. She stood in her doorway one mid-morning wearing a dirty old nightgown, looking as though she was carrying all the troubles of the world upon her shoulders. I asked her what the matter was and she said it had to do with lumps in her breast which the medical specialist, “was looking at” and that soon she might have to go into hospital for an operation. Read the rest of this entry »
The lady introduced herself as Dorothy. Perhaps in her late sixties, she was already standing at her front gate as I came along, telling me that she had heard me speaking with a neighbour two doors down, so she “came out for a chat too.” She said she was a widow and as a consequence didn’t get to talk much with people. 
