Isilently watch her as she light's a cigarette with her crippled handsfumbling slightly with the lighter. Something about the image of her smokingdoes...'t seem right to me, so I ask, "I don't remember you smoking when I wasa kid?"Running her free hand through her mane of white hair, she replies in theshaky voice that I have quickly become accustomed to hearing from her lips"Your father was the chain smoker. He either had a pipe, a cigar or half adozen lit cigarettes in the ashtrays. His favorite. I vowed, there and then, to myself that I would never ever treat anyone with such remote disdain as she had treated me: so there was at least one lesson I had learned from the old trout!CHAPTER 2I really had no idea what I was going to do in Manhattan. I had my patrimony in the form of the ten thousand dollars which my aunt had handed over to me and so I was not immediately destitute, but I was sufficiently worldly to realise that I had to find a job as my cash would not last long. Anyway, I. More

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