“Boy, that was mean, even by my standards,” Maysilee says to me. “You can’t choose your parents.” “You could reject their business,” I point out. “I couldn’t,” says Maysilee. “I was going to spend the rest of my life behind that candy counter, no matter how much I hated it. And I’m guessing you’d have been wearing miner’s overalls to your grave. We never, none of us, had any choices.”
