She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. “For no other reason than you talk too much. If you can’t see as how there ain’t nothing in this barrack of a place to help me do the job, I can. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. Despite her busy work schedule, Sheila had always been a social person, a talker, a joiner of neighborhood groups, a town council member, a PTA worker, and a thrower of neighborhood coffee klatches. “Why not?” He asked.
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