Or
she would disappear for days with her lorry and come back caked in rouge
and mud. I wish I could have got to know her and heard where she went
and the things that happened to her."
"But, my dear, I keep thinking what a strange life it is for you. Are
you always alone on your car?"
"Always alone."
"You are with men alone then all the time?"
"All the time."
"Well, it's more than I can understand. It's part of the war."
Elsa bent across the table and picked up the folded bodice, murmuring
that it was done. The dressmaker rose, and reaching for the hooped
skirt, held it up between her two arms. It was a thrilling moment.
Fanny, too, rose. "Put it on a dummy," she commanded. Candles were
placed around the dummy, who seemed to step forward out of the shades of
the kitchen, and offer its headless body to be hooked and buttoned into
the dress. All the room stood back to look and admire. "Wie schoen!" said
Elsa's shiny-headed friends, peering with their mouths open.
"Ah, dear child, you were so calm, and now it is done!" said the old
dressmaker.
The dress stood stiffly glittering at them, white as snow, the nine
frills pricking away from the great hooped skirt.
Fanny picked up the brown paper parcel she had laid on the dresser,
taking from it a bottle of blue ink, a bottle of green, and a paint
brush, and diluted the inks in a saucer under the tap.
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