Jane of Lantern Hill

Once, when Jane had been sitting in the Cadillac, one dark, dingy morning in a snowy world, waiting for Frank to take her to St. Agatha’s, as he did every day, she had heard two women, who were standing on the street-corner, talking about it. “Did you ever see such a dead house?” said the younger. “It looks as if it had been dead for ages.” “That house died thirty years ago, when Robert Kennedy di...