“It was a good party, Mary,” he said.
“My last.”
“Don’t say that, my dear.”
“Why not? I’m tired of living, Ralph, and I’m going to stop.”Her hard eyes mocked.“Do you doubt me? For over seventy years I’ve done precisely what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it, so if Death thinks he’s the one to choose the time of my going, he’s very much mistaken. I’ll die when I choose the time, and no suicide, either. It’s our will to live keeps us kicking, Ralph; it isn’t hard to stop if we really want to. I’m tired, and I want to stop. Very simple.”