. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. My birth certificate was destroyed when the county building it was housed in burned down. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. ” “But how?” “I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, ‘You are going to be a grandfather!’” “Yes. There's more than I undertook to bring. . ’ If you engage me it must be upon my own merits. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape.
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