Mammy aged. Within a week her shoulders hunched, her mouth sank down and her eyes lost their shine. Her skin became pale, almost transparent, and I imagined she was made of glass... In truth, I was a little afraid. Her grief was like a Siberian winter and I didn't want to go there... Like an old woman saying the rosary, she would sit by the back door, twisting Beatrice's blue scarf around her hands, on and on. She would mumble to herself, like a prayer, or a chant, but I could never make out what she was saying.