Something told me I was right.
Nobody had considered the possibility that the happiest woman in that small street was the youngest, yet they were all 90 or more years of age.
It made little difference being 91, 93, 94 or 96, except to impatient life insurance companies and those pondering an end to gas and electric bills.
Yet they all seemed to have a sense of joy that ran through them like a river reaching out to find the end of dry land.
Strange. But no mystery any more.
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