Gold Watch
By John McGahern
March 10, 1980
IT was in Grafton Street we met, aimlessly strolling on one of the lazy lovely Saturday mornings in spring, the week of work over, the weekend still as fresh as the bunch of anemones that seemed the only purchase in her cane shopping basket.
“What a lovely surprise,” I said, and was about to take her hand when a man with an armload of parcels parted us as she was shifting the basket to her other hand, and we withdrew from the pushing crowds into the comparative quiet of Harry Street. We had not met since we had graduated in the same law class from University College five years before. I had heard she’d become engaged to the medical student she used to knock around with, and had gone into private practice down the country, perhaps waiting for him to graduate.
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