Fur lined her cap and caught full droplets crystal from the mighty heavens the firmament loosed in night and dawn. With cheeks blushed rose in heed of cold, the ice cracking trees and charging broad limbs with black, Esme(e) awaited under the oak which spread down the river's bank waited in fur-lined cloak and high belled boots, pleated trunks, and belted her plush tunic in gold.
        Then she knew, and ran, and was too late.
        The carriage so fragile and strange a mushroom where it paused pale, gray, tenuous in the dawn whose grayness stifled the vehicle's dainty pink and rose gilt.
        It stood empty.
        The door gaped sadly.
        The powdered wig bright with jewels lay cast upon the satin seat.
        Out upon the river the last peak of voluminous skirt sank like a hand too weak to wave and Edwina was gone, drowned, and her enormous red-brown eyes were gone
hopeless, too gentle: hopeless.