It’s easy to climb, wearing trousers. She clears the window ledge without difficulty. Only the harsh blast of daylight affects her, but it’s not as bad as she thought it would be; maybe the shock’s softened that too.

Her feet touch the ground, she straightens up and for the first time in her life, she stands on the pavement outside her house.

What she sees rocks her back on her heels.

There’s so much of it. More than she could ever glimpse from her station by the door. An omnibus clatters past; she feels the air whoosh with it, and through the window there are people, lots of people, squashed together and gaping out at her.

Light flashes off glass. She winces. It’s mid-afternoon; the spiteful winter sun will soon go down and it’s already throwing out shadows. Pearl spies her own: monstrous, stretched like a giant. She turns quickly and walks away.

She doesn’t know what to do, where to look. How much space should she take up on the pavement? She tries to make herself smaller, but it’s not small enough. Men pushing barrows elbow her in the ribs and she can scarcely move her feet without stepping on a lady’s hem.

When she walked outside in her dreams, it was beautiful. The reality’s quite different. It’s scary.

Father, Father. She hears his name, sees his mutilated face with every step. Grief makes her too weak to struggle against the tide of people. She gives up, lets the crowd carry her along.

There’s a turn she needs to make, somewhere up ahead. She has no concept of distance; some of the buildings look a bit like Agnes’s drawing, but they’re so much larger, so stern.

Her head pounds fit to split open. The cap only partially screens her tender eyes. At least her face feels cooler now. The wind blows and chills the tracks on her cheeks. She narrows her eyes, shuffles on.

Finally the crowd spews her out and she finds herself standing, small and insignificant before an enormous building that reaches right up into the clouds. It’s the loveliest thing she’s ever seen. There’s shiny coloured glass, prettily carved pointy bits and a statue that looks like an angel, climbing the side.

She lays a palm against the rough stone. Maybe she’ll just curl up on the ground here, safe under the gaze of the angels.

Something caws above her. Pearl flinches and peers cautiously up from beneath the peak of her cap.

It’s a bird. He’s perched on one of the lower roofs: a coal-black thing with a patch of white and one glorious streak of blue down his wing. He cocks his head at her, caws again, then takes flight.

Her watering eyes follow his swoop. Such a graceful, easy motion. Pearl wishes she could move like that.