“Some summer evening like this, say, when Adelaide was sewing buttons, up on the porch, and Sister was playing somewhere about. A pleasant, quiet evening it must be, with the shadows lying long on the street that led from their house to the station. He would put down the garden shears, or the hose, or whatever he happened to be puttering with–not throw the thing down, you know, just put it quietly aside–and walk out the gate and down the street, and that would be the last they’d see of him. He would time it so that he’d just make the 6:03 for the city comfortably.”
From “Such a Pretty Little Picture”
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