Bridie thought Stella, curled up in the corner of the mail train compartment, her red curls squashed against the leather, looked like a ginger kitten she remembered from childhood. Two women on the opposite bench were drifting off too, lulled into a deep forgetfulness by the rattle of the wheels on iron. Bridie felt herself slipping into a yawning pit, inviting her to surrender.
Snatches of childhood loomed out of the deep ravine into which she was sinking. She was oblivious to the soot and the smoke whooshing past the windows of the train.