oman.Onlytwenty-fouryears,andthegirlI’dknown,withhermilky-whiteskinandredmouthandkindofdull-goldhair,hadturothisgreatround-shoulderedhag,shamblingalongontwistedheels.ItmademefeeldhtgladI’maman.Nomanevergoestopiecesquitesopletelyasthat.I’mfat,Igrantyou.I’mthewrongshape,ifyoulike.ButatleastI’mAshape.Elsiewasn’tevenparticularlyfat,shewasmerelyshapeless.Ghastlythingshadhappeoherhips.Asforherwaist,ithadvanished.Shewasjustakindofsoftlumpyder,likeabagofmeal.

    Ifollowedheralongway,outoftheoldtownandthroughalotofmeanlittlestreetsIdidn’tknow.Finallysheturnedinatthedoorwayofanothershop.Bythewayshewentin,itwasobviouslyherown.Istoppedforamomentoutsidethewindow.‘G.Cookson,feerandTobaist.’SoElsiewasMrsCookson.Itwasamangylittleshop,muchliketheotheronewhereshe’dstoppedbefore,butsmallerandalotmoreflyblown.Didosellanythingexcepttobadthecheapestkindsofsweets.IwonderedwhatIcouldbuythatwouldtakeamiwo.ThenIsawarackofcheappipesinthewindow,ain.IhadtobraerveupalittlebeforeIdidit,becausethere’dobesomehardlyingifbyanyceshereizedme.

    She’ddisappearedintotheroombehindtheshop,butshecamebackasItappedontheter.Sowewerefacetoface.Ah!nosign.Didn’treizeme.Justlookedatmethewaytheydo.Youknowthewaysmallshopkeeperslookattheirers—utterlackofi.

    ItwasthefirsttimeI’dseenherfullfadthoughIhalfexpectedwhatIsaw,itgavemealmostasbigashockasthatfirstmomentwhenI’dreizedher.Isupposewhenyoulookatthefaeoneyoung,evenofachild,yououghttobeabletoforeseewhatit’lllooklikewhenit’sold.It’sallaquestionoftheshapeofthebone