rebellious great-aunt

My great aunt

I never really had a grandmother growing up. One had died when I was small, one lived in Canada and was hardly spoken of. But I had my great-aunt, and she was enough. She was Miss Margaret Murray, to most of her acquaintance: she worked for forty years in the Department of Labour, voted Conservative most of her life, read the Daily Telegraph, and retired to live with her widowed mother. She went to the local Presbyterian Church on Sundays and grew roses in her garden.

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