Each morning his face flushed as he remembered the boy's words, "I want that shovel. It's just like yours." And each morning he fell to his knees, extended his arms, then plunged his hands into the ... [+]
Translated by Hannah Charlton
— Psst! Kiddo! Mary continued to walk straight on, looking right ahead of her. — Psst! Who was that? Where did that whistle come from? She turned her head. Nobody there. Nothing but the little cold drizzle of rain that misted up her glasses and covered the hood of her raincoat. — And I can't see anything anyway with this hood! she said to herself shrugging her shoulders. She glanced around her. Still nothing. The arch of the bridge under the railway line glistened with wet and there was a smell of damp. Mary shivered. Why had she wanted to choose this way on her own? She had tried it once befo