And yet she can sit on her porch and smile at people going by, just like her house was cleaned up.

I hate a hypocrite." Sandy had had ample time to watch the Meeches during his long convalescence.

He had been moved from the spare room to a snug little room over the kitchen, which commanded a fine view of the neighbors.
When the green book got too heavy to hold, or his eyes grew too tired to look at the many magazines with which the judge supplied him, he would lie still and watch the little drama going on next door.
Mrs.Meech was a large, untidy woman who always gave the impression of needing to be tucked up.

The end of her gray braid hung out behind one ear, her waist hung out of her belt, and even the buttons on her shoes hung out of the buttonholes in shameless laziness.
Mr.Meech did not need tucking in; he needed letting out.

He seemed to have shrunk in the wash of life.