It is the first piece of post that man ever received at an address of his own.
That is why it is in the frame.
And the four hours in that front room, which I am told by Lorraine I have described eleven different ways and which I am going to do once more properly.
The coffee went cold. Neither of us drank it.
He got the folder about an hour in and put it on the arm of the chair and did not open it for another forty minutes, because he kept saying "in a minute" and then asking me another question about my mother.
What did she do. Did she have a job. Was she funny.
He wanted to know whether she was funny. I said yes, dryly, and mostly at my father's expense, and he laughed as though I had given him something.
He asked whether she had a good life. He asked what she died of and when, and how old, and whether it was quick.
