I took the suitcase to the car， and

I took the suitcase to the car， and then returned to help the woman． She took my arm and we walked slowly towards the car．    She kept thanking me for my kindness． "It's nothing，" I told her． "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated．"    "Oh， you're such a good man．" She said． When we got into the taxi， she gave me an address， and then asked， "Could you drive through downtown?"    "It's not the shortest way，" I answered quickly．    "Oh， I'm in no hurry，" she said． "I'm on my way to a hospice  （临终医院）． I don't have any family left． The doctor says I don't have very long． "    I quietly reached over and shut off the meter （计价器）． For the next two hours， we drove through the city． She showed me the building where she had once worked， the neighborhood where she had lived， and the furniture shop that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl．    Sometimes she'd ask me to slow down in front of a particular building and would sit staring into the darkness， saying nothing．    At dawn， she suddenly said， "I'm tired． Let's go now．" We drove in silence to the address she had given．    "How much do I owe you?" she asked．    "Nothing．" I said．    "You have to make a living，" she answered． "Oh， there are other passengers，" I answered． She said thanks to me， but she looked so sad．