Laying her things absently on the table, she pulled loose the comb
which bound the iron-grey locks behind her head, and shook them free
about her shoulders. At this simple act Mary drew a startled breath,
and it was all she could do to suppress a gasp of fright. For here,
truly, was the classic apparition of a witch: the ragged, wind-blown
dress and shawl, the long, wild hair and intent, burning eyes. This,
the woman noticed.
"Not much to look at, am I?" At first she glared as she said this,
then turned away, remembering to whom she spoke. "There was a time,
Mary, and perhaps not so long ago as you might imagine, when men said
I was still quite fair. But time. . .and poison. . .have done their
work." She grew silent, and bitter, once more. But something inside
the girl urged her now to draw the woman out, not leave her alone in
this darkness.
She got down from the bed and stepped timidly towards her. Placing one
hand on her shoulder, with the other she lifted a stray lock of her
mother's hair and tucked it gently behind her ear.
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