You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. The flush deck was without wells. It is she that I must see. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. “That was a moment of madness,” she said. Her heart failed her and her resolution became water.
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