After my landlady left, I stood before the only window in my room, which faced the street.

NEWYORKER: The House Behind a Weeping Cherry

If my landlady demanded more, I would have to look for another place.

NEWYORKER: The House Behind a Weeping Cherry

The tweed coat had been green when my father bought it for me in London that spring, but the nice old landlady at the little Scottish inn where we were staying when he was taken ill had firmly sent it out to be dyed the day before the funeral.

NPR: Excerpt: The Sherwood Ring