4

Dolores gives a nod, but quickly replies:

"To me, though, the two things don't seem mutually exclusive. You don't forget somebody just because you don't think about them every moment of the day; that wouldn't be healthy for anyone. And I don't think there's any right or wrong way to grieve, either. But to be honest, I don't think there needs to be such a big mystery around death. I know I can't tell anybody how they should feel, but at least when I go, I wouldn't want people speaking about me in hushed tones, whispering as if it would be in poor taste to mention my name too loudly. It would be as if I wasn't a person anymore, but just a wisp; something fragile in danger of breaking. Death isn't so strong that it strips away who we are, I don't think. And going on with life won't do that either. Besides—I like to think I've lived my life in such a way that, whether or not people like me, I think they're bound to remember me one way or another."

She lets out a hearty laugh, and then lifts a hand in apology as a few people turn to look at her. When she meets your eye again, she winces slightly.

"I do have a habit of forgetting where I am at times. But I shouldn't worry; I'm sure Eliot wouldn't mind."

She sighs to herself, and falls quiet for a moment. But very soon she turns back to face you, and this time you can see that her thoughts have turned to something else.

"I think I should probably explain about the letter I sent you. I know that this isn't exactly the best venue for a conversation, but I'm going out of town tonight, and the thought of speaking with you only occured to me the other day, so I thought this might be the simplest opportunity for us to meet. And I'm sorry to cut right to it, but…there's just something I wanted to talk to you about. Something I think you ought to know."

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