p. 266
Strangers tromp into the house, pushing to see what's in the tiny rooms, poking at a box of his cuff links and tie tacks, half empty bottles of aspirin and Pepto-Bismol. A foot-locker stenciled "COL. JOHN KING" (so he did become a soldier!), his wife's ironing board and Reader's Digests, bric-a-brac from hard-won vacations, cheap picture frames and folding chairs--all must go! And all those memories and stories which surrounded these relics like dust are wiped away by the hands of strangers carrying the things away.
p. 101
