It was Mae's job to talk: Kwan could not. Mae said she did not know how she would finish the dresses in time. The girls' mothers were never satisfied, each wanted her daughter to have the best. Well, the richest would have the best in the end because they bought the best cloth. Oh! Some of them had asked to pay for the fabric later! As if Mae could afford to buy cloth for six dresses without being paid!

'They all think their fashion expert is a woman of wealth.' Mae sometimes found the whole pretence funny. Kwan's eyes crinkled into a smile; but they were almost moist from pain. It was hurting.

'You should have told me your teeth were sore,' said Mae, and inspected the gums. In the back, they were raw.

If you were rich, Kwan, you would have good teeth; rich people keep their teeth, and somehow keep them white, not brown. Mae pulled stray hair out of Kwan's face.

'I will have to pull some of them,' Mae said quietly. 'Not today, but soon.'

Kwan closed her mouth and swallowed. 'I will be an old lady,' she said, and managed a smile.

'A granny with a thumping stick.'

'Who always hides her mouth when she laughs.'

Both of them chuckled. 'And thick glasses that make your eyes look like a fish.'

Kwan rested her hand on her friend's arm. 'Do you remember, years ago? We would all get together and make little boats, out of paper or shells. And we would put candles in them, and send them out on the ditches.'

'Yes!' Mae sat forward. 'We don't do that anymore.'

'We don't wear pillows and a cummerbund anymore, either.'

There had once been a festival of wishes every year, and the canals would be full of little glowing candles, that floated for a while and then sank with a hiss. 'We would always wish for love,' said Mae, remembering.