The distinction I hastened to make, to almost every Canadian I met, was probably a waste of time; that I wasn't there as a draft dodger or a deserter didn't really matter very much to the Canadians. ubt it: she would have been a beautiful young woman then; and your mother, Grandmother told me, would have been younger than you. It was no big deal. I'll never forget what Hester was singing; it's a Canadian song, and-over the years-I've heard this song a hundred times.
ts of an occasional passing car were far enough away to contribute to the uncertainty of the figure in the bed of portulaca. Lydia and my grandmother instinctively looked at me, perhaps to ascertain if I'd understood my mother correctly: that the time before, wh He spoke directly to Mrs. I wasn't present when she'd announced the particulars of the case of the first man she claimed she'd met on the train.
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