“How old are you?” she asked.My answer was automatic and ingrained. “Seventeen.”“And how long have you been seventeen?”I tried not to smile at the patronizing tone. “A while,” I admitted.“Okay,” she said, abruptly enthusiastic. She smiled up at me.”

“How old are you?”“Seventeen,” he answered promptly.“And how long have you been seventeen?”His lips twitched as he stared at the road. “A while,” he admitted at last.”

“How old are you, anyway?' she asked, squinting at him.There was a pause. At last he said, 'Why do you want to know?'I just wondered,' said Winnie.All right. I'm one hundred and four years old,' he told her solemnly.No, I mean really,' she persisted.Well then.' he said, 'if you must know, I'm seventeen.'Seventeen?'That's right.'Oh,' said Winnie hopelessly. 'Seventeen. That's old.'You have no idea,' he agreed with a nod.”

“She blow em clean over. She suck the grits off the candle and start eating. After while, she smile up at me, say, "How old are you?""Aibileen's fifty-three."Her eyes get real wide. I might as well be a thousand.”

“She smiled at him, with longing. 'Where do you live,' she asked, 'and how do I get there?”

“I was last. Sam walked up and held me for a long time. Finally she whispered in my ear. She said a lot of wonderful things about how it was okay that i wasn't ready last night and how she would miss me and how she wanted me to take care of myself while she was gone."You're my bestfriend," was all i could say in return.”