Katherine Mansfield, "Miss Brill" (1920)

Although it was so brilliantly fine--the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light

like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publique--Miss Brill was glad that she had

decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there

was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now

and again a leaf came drifting--from nowhere, from the sky. Miss Brill put up her

hand and touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel it again. She had taken

it out of its box that afternoon, shaken out the moth-powder, given it a good brush,

and rubbed the life back into the dim little eyes. "What has been happening to me?"

said the sad little eyes. Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her from the

red eiderdown! . . . But the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn't

at all firm. It must have had a knock, somehow. Never mind--a little dab of black

sealing-wax when the time came--when it was absolutely necessary . . . Little rogue!

Yes, she really felt like that about it. Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear.

She could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it. She felt a tingling

in her hands and arms, but that came from walking, she supposed. And when she

breathed, something light and sad--no, not sad, exactly--something gentle seemed

to move in her bosom.