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looked like the exact same things he had worn the day
before.
"That looks like Duncan Winning," Aunt
Zipporah said and slowed down.
He looked up when we pulled alongside him. "Hi, Duncan," she said. "Would you like a ride
into town?"
He looked at me, then shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm in no rush to get there," he
said, lowered his head and kept walking.
"He's a strange duck," Aunt Zipporah said, "but
I can't help feeling sorry for him. He looks so lost all
the time."
"I'm sure people back home thought the same
of me," I said.
"The difference is you really do have family
who cares, Alice."
"I know."
Aunt Zipporah looked at Duncan. "Someone told me he writes poetry. Maybe it was Cassie who
told me."
"Is that what he does sitting in the cafe?" "I guess so. I just equaled all the words I've
ever said to him and he's said to me," she told me. "Doesn't he have any friends?"
"I've never seen him with anyone when I've
seen him, but I don't know much more about him. His
mother and he live out on what was once a chicken
farm. Again, according to Mrs. Mallen, who knows a
little about everyone's business, Duncan's mother had
a little money after his father took off, and she does a
mail out business from her home. Mostly religious
material. They also sold off some of their land for development." She smiled. "Little cities, lots of gossip." We started off again. I glanced at him as we
passed him by. He kept his head down, but when we
were well beyond him, he looked up to watch us
