The Widow of Frankenstein, part the seventh, in which Glenn fails to pontificate on the many and varied uses of the peanut

“Unable to think of any other alternatives, I became a thief–and a murderer, when it was necessary. At first, I slipped into farmer’s homes during the day, when all the family was out in the fields or tending to livestock. This was risky, however, and after one close call, I decided that breaking in at night was more prudent. This went on successfully for quite some time, and although I was sleeping in the forest, I was no longer starving. When news began to spread that there was a thief around and armed guards began patrolling the village and countryside at night, I would move on to another location and start over. It was in this manner–robbing, and moving on, robbing and moving on–that I procured enough money to secure passage on a ship leaving London for America. This was 1903, I believe.”
“Wait a minute!” I interrupted, “You’re skipping over a lot of time!”
“What is there to tell? Did you want a complete report of every house broken into? A full list of all which was stolen? The names of all the travelers in lonely roads whom I took by surprise, and then cut their throats so they could not give my description to the authorities? For someone so skeptical of my identity, you seem very anxious to hear more of my ‘lies’!”
She was right. Maybe it was effect of the drinks or maybe I was intoxicated by her loveliness–costume aside, she was quite attractive–or maybe she was just a masterful story teller. Whatever it was, I found myself starting to believe her tale! Sure, it was far-fetched, but, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio. . . ”
“There is very little to tell about the rest of my life since I came here. I have moved around from one big city to another, living the life of a homeless person. Do you know how easy it is to become invisible when you have no address, phone, or social security number? Whenever I was able to lay hold of some money, I put it in a bank account. Do you know how much interest is accrued, on even a small amount of money, over the course of sixty or seventy years? And so I have managed to survive, occasionally buying food or clothing when I can’t get them otherwise. Do you see this dress? This dress is a genuine antique–a souvenir of the first house I ever robbed. It was the height of fashion in that era for a woman in mourning. I think it’s held up very well for its age. Also, it helps me blend in very well with the–locals. Wouldn’t you say so?
“But all this is mere distraction from my original question. Since I am a creation of man, rather than a creation of God, do I have a soul?”