Nannie Slagg x
It was on the following afternoon that Mrs Slagg died. She was found lying upon her bed, towards evening, like a little grubby doll. The black dress was awry as though she had struggled. Her hands were clasped at her shrunken breast. It was hard to imagine that the broken thing had once been new; that those withered waxen cheeks had been fresh and tinted. That her eyes had long ago glinted with laughter. For she had been sprightly once. A vivacious pert little creature. Bright as a bird.
And there she lay. It was as though the doll-sized body had been thrown aside as too old and decrepit to be of any further use.
Fuchsia, directly she had been told, rushed to the small room that she knew so well.
But the doll on the bed was no longer her nurse. It was not Nannie Slagg, that little motionless bundle. It was something else.

