If ever I could bring myself to ask you any favour, I would ask you to forget even as I have forgotten. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk.
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