He never used the word “rat” or “skunk.” He doesn’t like my vocabulary. I come out and call his friends s.o.b., but you want the word, and he don’t like them. That don’t have to go on the record.
Did I get off the track? I am sorry, Mr. Griffin.
Mr. Griffin. Well, when did you next see him again after he left the house Friday night?
Mrs. Grant. The next day he came.
Mr. Griffin. Did he come back to your house at all Friday night?
Mrs. Grant. No. Wait a minute, you are asking me—I know what the question is. Now, I am sorry, sir, you will have to forgive me. My mind isn’t that good any more.
When he was leaving, he looked pretty bad. This I remember. I can’t explain it to you. He looked too broken, a broken man already. He did make the remark, he said, “I never felt so bad in my life, even when Ma or Pa died.”
So I said, “Well, Pa was an old man. He was almost 89 years. Anyone lives that long, you are lucky, such as the life he lived.”
I can’t put the things in there, the things that I said.
Mr. Griffin. That is all right.