Sixty-three Year Old Widow Refused to Hide Her Gray Hair at Work

Arthur set his teacup down without a sound, though he did not drink from it. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a heavy cream-colored document, placing it between us.

“Well, now,” I said, looking at the gold seal on the cover. “Is that your license, Arthur?”

“My bar membership is active, Martha,” he said, his voice slow and measured. “I paid continue reading …