She simpered at me. “Forty-one.”
“Well, you certainly don’t look it!”
“I don’t feel it.”
I said, “Well, I’m going to tall on the insurance company and get all of the facts in your case. I think perhaps, after all, it’s something that would go well in an article.”
“I’m satisfied it will, and I do wish you’d write an article like that. I think it needs to be published. Insurance companies are altogether too conceited, too cocksure of themselves.”
“They’re corporations,” I told her. “They tend to wind themselves up in a lot of red tape.”
“I’ll say they do.”
I motioned towards the morning paper which was lying on a reading table near her wheel-chair. “Read about the murder?” I asked.
“What murder?”
“The one out in the COZY DELL SLUMBER COURT.”