I was waiting to cross State Street at Washington when two expensively dressed women came out of Field’s. I caught only the end of the younger woman’s comment: “I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem right to have a woman on death row.” Her companion, a white-haired woman in her 60s, laid a gloved hand on her friend’s arm and replied matter-of-factly, “Dear, we’re all on death row. Some of us just have nicer cells.”
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