Thousand: Three Hundred Thirty-Four

as it falls. “Oh!” says Butternut, this time sharply, putting a hand to her tummy where it hit her. It seems however, to have slid right off, and she runs her fingers over the pad alongside to find it. A lady’s watch. Slim and gold. its narrow black face numberless. One slender gold hand points just to the left of a tiny inset jewel, the one less slender gestures just to the right as though the two, when they come together, will pluck the sparkle out. Butternut touches the watch to her ear. No ticking. So she twists the fob.