But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. “It’s—private. They poisoned the system with lead and exploded half the time on the other side. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. On the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. They got to go home and eat Campbell’s Chicken Soup. She isn't used to cities.
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