She did it without thinking. She was at the window of the parlour, in the morning, and the light through the window was the colour of late afternoon, and the colour was a degree colder than it had been the day before. She was looking at the garden. The garden was smaller. The garden had been getting smaller for three mornings, and the smaller had been the part of him that had been letting the dream go. She put her hand on the glass. The glass was cool. She breathed on the glass. The glass fog...