I remember sitting in cotton socks playing with the doll which that faceless relative had given to me, and Mother taking the doll away and scolding me. I looked out of old glass windows, my breath steaming up the squares and rubbing the cloud of escaped breath away, and wishing hard that I could play outside in the rain, but Mother says it is compulsory to wear boots and coats out into the rain, and I shall wet the carpet. I should like to have explored that forest behind the house, for you can see the whole world when you climb a tree, and there are paths everywhere and you can follow whichever you like to get lost for a while, but Mother says dangerous men with long coats who steal children to make pies lurk in forests (not that there are many children to catch in forests) You aren’t allowed to break expensive dolls, you aren’t allowed to dance in the rain wearing pyjamas, you can’t spend your afternoons in a forest, and that’s why we wanted to grow up.