Mr. Bradley waved toward a doorway at one end of the big, people-cluttered living room. "Kitchen's right in there," he informed me. "Go along the hall and turn left. Go on in and help yourself." I weaved my way between the chairs toward the doorway. The smoky air was heavy and thick and reluctant to let me through. I closed the door behind me and found myself in a murky hallway. The only light was that which seeped under the door I had just shut, and the glow from a partly open door at the end of the hall. There was an open doorway at the left of the hall, and I was about to enter the kitchen through it when I heard a whisper. "Pssst! Come in here, in here a minute." My curiosity was stronger than my fright. I tiptoed slowly along the hall toward the partly open door and toward the whisper. Outside the door, I hesitated. Then I heard the whisper again. "Come on in here, in here." Timidly, I pushed the door open farther. The room was illuminated by a big, old-fashioned lamp that stood in a corner, its shade dripping with fawn-colored fringe. There was a large four-poster bed covered with a patchwork quilt, an old wooden rocking chair, and a heap of clothes on the floor beside the bed. The heap of clothes turned out to be a wizened old lady. Her frail body was swathed in layer after layer of garments, and her small head was covered by a black cloth, under which her bright eyes sparkled up at me. "Come on in and close the door, come on in," she hissed. I closed the door and stared at her. But I knew I shouldn't just stand there and stare; I had to say something. "What on earth are you doing down there on the floor?" I asked. It wasn't the type of thing I had intended to say, at all. The old lady proudly smoothed the thick layers of material that surrounded her. She reminded me of a hen preening, fluffing out her feathers. "I'm going to have a baby," she confided, still in a whisper. "Well--" I gulped. "That's--that's fine. Motherhood is so--" I felt behind me for the doorknob. "Motherhood is so--well, so--" "So broadening! Just like travel!" Her loud, sudden cackle was startling. "And how it is broadening!" she hissed. "But not the way I'm doing it. I've got a better way. Chickens have a better way than humans. All they do is sit on eggs. That way they don't get fat, they don't suffer, it's very simple. So I'm profiting by their example. See?" The old lady half rose, lifting her voluminous skirts, revealing skinny, knobby legs and--an egg! The egg, a large white one that looked almost as though it were made of china, rested on a pile of old dresses. After allowing me one quick glance, the old lady ruffled her clothes about her again and sank down gently onto the egg. By this time I had found the doorknob, and I hurried out of the room. The old lady's stage whisper followed me: "I'm Mrs. Bradley. You must come back to see me soon, when my baby is born."