the last book I ever read (Margaret Atwood's Book of Lives: A Memoir of Sorts, excerpt twelve)

from Book of Lives: A Memoir of Sorts by Margaret Atwood:

Soon after we moved in, Shaughnessy Cohen of the raccoon sanctuary came rushing over. “Guess what the locals are saying?” she asked breathlessly.

“What?”

“They’re saying that Margaret Mead has just bought a place on the island!” Margaret Mead had been dead for ten years.

Once they’d figured out who I was and where I lived, the islanders were very discreet. Tourists would ask them, “Does Margaret Atwood live around here?” “Margaret who?” they would say. Or, “I think she’s way down there at the other end of the island.” I didn’t ask them to fib like this, they just knew. Country manners.