{

She wore her mother's ring, a braid of cotton thread around one wrist, old skirts from second-hand shops which she never washed. The wool was coarse. The linings sometimes fell apart. In the pockets she found old dry-cleaning tickets and the glowing remains of watches touched with radium. She swung her feet sitting on the bus. She swung her arms when she walked. Her scarf was the colour of lake water in winter, and then it was the colour of a bird flying, each feather a thin, brilliant knife. She was rarely late. She carried ginger biscuits with her. She went everywhere in her coat and hat. The weather cooperated. The trains ran on time. All in all the basket she made of her life held water fine.