Old Lady Number 31

Excerpt

Angeline’s slender, wiry form and small, glossy gray head bent over the squat brown tea-pot as she shook out the last bit of leaf from the canister.  The canister was no longer hers, neither the tea-pot, nor even the battered old pewter spoon with which she tapped the bottom of the tin to dislodge the last flicker of tea-leaf dust.  The three had been sold at auction that day in response to the auctioneer’s inquiry, “What am I bid for the lot?”