I walked over to a chair and sat down. Bertha Cool continued to study her reflection from various angles. “How old do you think I am?” she asked abruptly.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, make a guess.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Good heavens, you’ve formed some opinion. A person always get an idea of how old anyone is. How old did you think I was when you first saw me? No, not then. How old do you think I look now?”
I said, “I don’t have any idea how old you are. I don’t even know how old you look. I came to tell you I was quitting.”
She jerked her head around. Her hard, glittering eyes stabbed into mine. “Quitting!”
“That’s what I said.”
“But you can’t quit.”
“Why not?”