Her enormous spoon into the copper kettle and flop, gurgle, gooze, softly into the jars. One two three At the sixty-eighth, Marcia, without stirring or lifting her lids, spoke into the sucky silence. "Momie?" "Yes, Marcy." "You'll be glad." Hattie, pausing at the sixty-eighth, "Why, dear?" "I came home in Nonie Grosbeck's automobile. I'm invited to a dinner dance October the seventeenth.