| 861 Jasmine Street had been a fine house once, but now it was old and dying. I got out of the carriage. "That will be two dollars, sir." Uncle Caesar said. I gave him two one-dollar bills. As I handed them to him, I noticed that one had been torn in half and fixed with a piece of blue paper. Also, the upper right hand corner was missing. Azalea Adair herself opened the door when I knocked. She was about fifty years old. Her white hair was pulled back from her small, tired face. She wore a pale yellow dress. It was old, but very clean. Azalea Adair led me into her living room. A damaged table, three chairs and an old red sofa were in the center of the floor. Azalea Adair and I sat down at the table and began to talk. I told her about the magazine's offer, she told me about herself. She was from an old southern family. Her father had been a judge. Azalea Adair told me she had never traveled or even attended school. Her parents taught her at home with private teachers. We finished our meeting. I promised to return with the agreement the next day, and rose to leave. At that moment, someone knocked at the back door. Azalea Adair whispered a soft apology and went to answer the caller. She came back a minute later with bright eyes and pink cheeks. She looked ten years younger. "You must have a cup of tea before you go." she said. She shook a little bell on the table, and a small black girl about twelve years old ran into the room. |
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