2min chapter

The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Margaret Atwood Reads Alice Munro

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

The Dinner Happened. We Know the Dinner

It seems Sadie was quite a saintly lovely person. So we are told, so it couldn't have been her. But they're familiar with her. I mean, familiar not just in that they recognize but they speak to her familiarly. They know what she's been up to. And or except for that. It's it's that old truism that the servants always know a lot more about upstairs than the upstairs knows about downstairs.

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