Ninety-one-year-old Aline Johnson has been told by doctors she is dying of congestive heart failure. She rarely leaves the bed of her house in Queens, N.Y., and her voice creaks like a porch door as she speaks, flirting with the uppermost registers. Since being admitted into hospice care a year ago, she has never been given much longer to live, and now she is almost nothing but bone.
But Johnson has had reason to defy her prognosis. Having grown up in...
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