The Boston Globe, July 8th, 2001
I PULLED MY AGINGSubaru to a halt at the top of the graveled drive of Laurel Reed Mallett's home and gawked: a stucco and half-timbered extravaganza with a half-dozen chimneys, twin turrets, and two half- moon windows like scandalized eyes centered in a long, low-slung roof. So this was what they called a Berkshire cottage? Where I come from, it would be considered the Taj Mahal. A woman in nurse pastels motioned me to pull up under the portico. "You're late," she said. "I expected you an hour and a half ago." "I . . ." But Nurse Riley wasn't waiting for excuses. I followed her into the house....
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