“No—I don’t know as I should now; I shouldn’t know what to do, and it won’t last long.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixty-five.”
It puzzled Zachariah that the man’s story of his life was so short—all told in five minutes.
“But did you never have any adventures? Did you never hear about anything, or see anybody worth remembering? Tell me all about yourself. We’ve got nothing to do.”
“I don’t recollect anything particular after I came to Liverpool. Things seemed to go on pretty much in the same way.”
“But you got married, and your wife died?”
“Yes—I got married, and she died.”
“What was your wife’s name?”
“Her name was Jenkins; she was the daughter of the saddler that lived next door.”