Pioneer reporter: I have cancer. Now what? (Winnetka Talk) PDF Print

My friend of 23 years gripped my arm, creasing the suit jacket sleeve into a bunched knot, as she leaned closer over our candlelit, white-cloth dinner table. We were celebrating a friend's wedding at a south suburban country club, and I innocently had asked Marilyn Westover how she would spend her Sunday afternoon the next day.

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