I heard a little sob come from her. What should I call her, I wondered? Miss Snooty in the next stall had got her name on account of a up-tilting nose... This Amanda, in her English way, was rather more reserved than some, it seemed to me. What about Miss Modesty then? Yes, I quite liked that. I would give orders to the sign-maker that evening and the new plaque would go up tomorrow over her stall, joining the others with such names as Frisky Girl, Maid Maximum (a big-rumped filly that!), Roman. It was a boat, a wooden one, with a tall stem post. Straight as a die it came down the middle of the stream, but the motion of the water beside it suggested that it moved slower than the river. As it left the shadow of the two buildings I saw that the boat was filled to the gunwales with white flowers – camellias or lilies or something similar – lying on them in a posture of repose was a girl. Early to mid-twenties was my first impression, followed rapidly by the thought that she must have. More

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