The plush darling in her arms fell asleep as she hugged it to herself and, like a blind person, smoothed its velvet surface. Perhaps these repetitive movements were consoling something in herself. Now she was lost in thought. She sighed, and put the album away in the suitcase.
The time came, and she laid out: a dressing gown, a nightgown, and her bedlinen, like a bride. There was turquoise silk, but she was embarrassed. She was afraid everyone could see them. Her attempts to curtain the kitchen window with a sheet were painfully ridiculous, as was the very idea that anyone could pry on them through their window on the fifteenth floor, even from the blocks opposite. The sheet was absurd. It looked like an enormous gag, but she was reassured when she got her way and a muffled hospital still
