“What do you burn?” I asked. “What do you use for light, gas or oil?”
“Ile,” she replied heavily. “You’ll have to talk very loud. I’m gettin’ old and I’m goin’ to die pretty soon.”
“Oh, no,” I said, “you’re not old enough for that. You’re going to live a long time yet.”
“Hey?” she asked.
I repeated what I had said.
“No,” she mumbled, and now I saw she had no teeth. “I’m gettin’ old. I’m eighty-two and I’m goin’ to die. I been workin’ in the mills all my life.”
“Have you ever been out of Middleton?” I asked.
“Hey?” she replied.
I repeated.
“Yes, to Manchester, Saturdays. Not of late, though. Not in years and years. I’m very sick, though, now. I’m goin’ to die.”