Early one morning last May a middle-aged Brooklyn housewife named Rose Samanoff stepped briskly out of her home, started down the street to buy some food for her large family. Stopping at the corner to get a newspaper, she was about to cross the street when she was frozen in her tracks by the sight of two speeding automobiles coming together at the intersection, by the sound of shrieking brakes, screeching tires. That was the last Rose Samanoff ever saw, ever heard. To avoid a collision, one of the cars swerved up on the...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
