Going

Twenty-One

“It isn’t as if she was a bride, Henry. God knows it’s terrible to lose her that way, but she was yours for fifty years, Henry, fifty years, the kind of marriage most people hardly dare to dream of having, and if she’s gone, well, be content that you had the fifty, at least.”

“I wish we had crashed together, though.”

“Don’t be childish. You’re—what?—eighty-five, eighty-seven years old? You’ve got fifteen or twenty healthy and productive years ahead of you. More, if you’re lucky. People live to fantastic ages nowadays. You might see one hundred ten or one hundred fifteen.”

“Without Edith, what good is that?”