Margaret Atwood Reads Alice Munro
The New Yorker: Fiction
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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