Miss brill

MISS BRILL (1920) By Katherine Mansfield Although it was so brilliantly fine—the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of fine the light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques—Miss Brill was glad that she Publiques Miss had decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there opened was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now and again a leaf came drifting—from nowhere, from the sky. Miss Brill put up her hand and drifting from touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel it again. She had taken it out of its it box that afternoon, shaken out the moth powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the moth-powder, life back into the dim little eyes. "What has been happening to me?" said the sad little eyes. Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her again from the red eiderdown!... But the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn't at all firm. It must have had a knock, somehow. Never mind mind—a little dab of black sealing-wax when the time came— wax came when it was absolutely necessary... Little rogue! Yes, she really felt like that about it. rogue! Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it. She felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but that came from walking, she supposed. And when she breathed, something light and sad—no, not sad, exactly no, exactly— something gentle seemed to move in her bosom. There were a number of people out this afternoon, far more than last Sunday. And the band sounded louder and gayer. That was because the Season had begun. For although begun. the band played all the year round on Sundays, out of season it was never the same. It was like some one playing with only the family to listen; it didn't care how it played if there weren't any strangers present. Wasn't the conductor wearing a new coat, too? She wearing was sure it was new. He scraped with his foot