"Any apples today?" Effie asked cheerfully at my window. I followed her to her truck and bought a kilo. On credit, of course. Cash was the one thing in the world I lacked just then.
All pretense （借口） of payment was dropped when our funds, food and funds decreased to alarming lows. Effie came often, always bringing some gift: a jar of peaches or some firewood. There were other generosities.
Effie was not a rich woman. Her income, derived from investments she had made while running an interior decorating shop. had never exceeded $200 a month, which she supplemented by selling her apples. But she always managed to help someone poorer.
Years passed before I was able to return the money Effie had given me from time to time. She was ill now and had aged rapidly in the last year. "Here, darling," I said, "is what l owe you."
"Give it back as I gave it to you--a little at a time." I think she believed there was magic in the slow discharge of a love debt.
The simple fact is that I never repaid the whole amount to Effie, for she died a few weeks later. By now, the few dollars Effie gave me have been multiplied many times. But a curious thing began to happen.
Whenever I saw a fellow human in financial trouble, I was moved to help him. I can't afford to do this always, but in the ten years since Effie's death, I have indirectly repaid my debt to her.
At that time, it seemed that my debt would forever go unsettled. So the account can never be marked closed. for Effie's love will go on in hearts that have never known her.
A. Our baby was not doing well, so Effie financed my wife's trip to New York for consultation with a specialist.
B. Give your help to those in greater need.
C. The oddest part of the whole affair is that people whom I help often help others later on.
D. Effie work diligently all her life.
E. "Pay me whenever you like," said Effie, climbing back into her truck.
F. "Don't give it to me all at once," she said.
