Remembering Aunt Nell
In 1919, when I was five years old, I got whooping cough and almost died. I remember my mother sleeping with me every night. We lived in–well, we called it an English basement. Now they’d call it a garden apartment. And my mother used to go to the window in the pitch dark and lift up the window to take the milk in, and the milkman would say, “How is she today?...