Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

with rubber grips on the soles. I want you to wear them every hour of the day, and through the night.”

The wool smelled of clean lanolin and dry heat.

“These socks are not just clothing, Martha; they are your independence,” he said.

I smoothed the rough fabric with my palm. “Day and night?”

“Every single hour,” he said. “We have to keep the tissue warm continue reading …