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190 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1960
"I've been pretty annoyed for years with this silliness called modern life. It irritates me to make no progress at all except towards old age. I could strangle the self-pitying young people who moan at the mess around them and do nothing about it. But I've never yet been angry on a personal score, I mean at something which happened to me. When I hear that my elder sister has been battered to death and thrown in an open grave, I find it too much. I’m livid. So don’t take too long in solving the thing. I understand you’re clever. For goodness’ sake show it."
"Old women! You never stop to think of them, do you? I don’t mean only those from middle-class families but working class as well. Thirty, forty years ago the better-off ones had companions and went down to death selfishly, perhaps, but decently and without humilations. The poor ones, even the old widows of farm-workers, kept their own cottages to the last, when a cottage cost half-a-crown a week. Yes, and tottered round their little bits of garden and had visits from their grandchildren and perhaps their great-grandchildren, and made jam and homemade wine if they lived in the country and crept round to the pub sometimes with a jug sometimes if they lived in town. Now what happens? Herded into homes to sleep in dormitories and obey the rules like children. Or, if they’ve got enough money to keep them out of that, have the pestered, anxious, artificial existences that these old women here had. Do you blame old Mrs Bobbin, who has character, for being angry? Do you blame her sister for getting a sort of religious mania? Do you blame Grazia Vaillant for taking to the bottle, as apparently the old girl did, lately?"