e thought she was clear, but it came back. We went to the hospital on Tuesday. It was the worst possible news. At first, I didn't take it in. I'd been sitting there, I don't know how long, going over and over what the doctor had told me. He would do all he could, he said. But I must face up to the fact that she'd go downhill pretty quickly. She'd always been so kind and gentle, so full of sympathy for others. I knew the cancer was destroying her. I couldn't let her suffer and do nothing. It must have been two or three in the morning. The lock on the dining room French window was broken. Celia had complained about it. She looked so peaceful. And so content. I knew what had to be done.
