S always got the bone with the marrow. M said he was a boy
and needed more to grow. She said “more” in a way that excluded 
little.

We were habituated to seeing the streets peopled. On some days 
women walked behind their men.

M was the best mother. She sliced potatoes thin as rice paper and 
put them over our eyes. She had read somewhere that it was good 
for eyes. Jetsun corrected her and said it was cucumber, not potato. 
Potato was potato.

Jetsun had a mole removed from her nose and was considered 
fashionable.

Seasons dictated our passions. We had summer; we had winter; 
and the rains fell in between for a long time. It was almost winter
so we huddled (like infant mice) up to M.

The streets emptied at nine – as though a giant flush had swept 
everyone out.

The girls seen after were questionable.

Women walked slower than men, looked around more and stopped 
periodically. It was a dictate of nature, of difference in form and 
matter. M read that.

M said certain adjectives were not flattering for girls: shrewd,
aggressive, and plain. There were more but these three were to be 
avoided.

Plain, she said on second thinking, was a good thing, if used 
by a woman for another woman.