My Aunt Edna was as old as the hills. ‘I’m keeping you on your toes’ was what she called it, when she made us dance her drills. No one dared cross her. No one dared even speak. If you didn’t buy her world view you were called miserable and weak. She thought force could get all things done. And if it didn’t then lies would help. Gossiping was another of her hobbies. That and kicking the dog till it yelped. She spun tales of high order. About everybody but herself. It could be said, she was nobody’s favourite, though we never did dare make it explicit. Now when I think of Aunt Edna, only one fact comes to mind. Three full days had gone by, after she died, before anyone found out she was dead.