Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

JoMazelis

of incomprehension; frowning, she shook her head at the child. Amanda lifted her bouquet of flowers the right way up; the hanged man restored to buoyant and rude health. ‘Oh,’ the woman said, and touched the petals of one of the flowers, smoothing the pink satin between her fingers as if measuring its quality. Amanda would remember this gesture all her life; her upraised arm, how small she must have been then, and yet how strong and generous she felt. But Amanda was also aware then, as later, that she didn’t quite know what she was doing, what she meant to happen. Did she mean to give these flowers to the woman so

that she could take them and sell them once again to Monsieur Arbot? Or was she communicating something else to the woman, something about her appreciation of the woman’s talent, of the beauty of the flowers. Or perhaps a meaning which was even greater; a reminder of happy days, of beauty, of life? But the woman did not take the flowers from Amanda’s outstretched arm; instead she suddenly withdrew her hand, turned her back and hurried away. Amanda watched her go, saw how her shoulders were hunched against the bitter cold of the sunless morning, and she grew aware of the frost that crept up through the soles of her boots, chilling her to the bone.

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