Sun, bright morning-glare, straight in the eyes, relentless. She had forgotten to pull the blind last night. She turned her back. on the sun, but the right side wasn't comfortable. No use. Day.

She sighed twice, sat up, got her legs over the edge of the bed,; and sat hunched in her nightdress looking down at her feet.

The toes, compressed by a lifetime of cheap shoes, we almost square where they touched each other, and bulged out' above in corns; the nails were discolored and shapeless. Between the knoblike ankle bones ran fine, dry wrinkles. The brief little plain at the base of the toes had kept its delicacy, but the skin was the color of mud, and knotted veins crossed the instep. Disgusting. Sad, depressing. Mean. Pitiful. She tried on all the' words, and they all fit, like hideous little hats. Hideous: yes, that one too. To look at oneself and find it hideous, what a job! But" then, when she hadn't been hideous, had she sat around and-, stared at herself like this? Not much! A proper body's not an: object, not an implement, not a belonging to be admired, it's just you, yourself. Only when it's no longer you, but yours, a thing owned, do you worry about it- Is it in good shape? Will it do?: Will it last?

"Who cares?" said Laia fiercely, and stood up.

It made her giddy to stand up suddenly. She had to put out her hand to the bed table, for she dreaded falling. At that she thought` of reaching out to Taviri, in the dream.

What had he said? She could not remember. She was not sure if she had even touched his hand. She frowned, trying to force' memory. It had been so long since she had dreamed about Taviri; and now not even to remember what he had said!

It was gone, it was gone. She stood there hunched in her nightdress, frowning, one hand on the bed table. How long was it since she had thought of him-let alone dreamed of him-even,. thought of him, as "Taviri"? How long since she had said his name?