She's gathered her coat, added another flannel work-shirt and her gloves and scarf to a little rucksack, and ended up rejecting her sombrera after all.

Susan shuts the window and makes sure it's firmly latched, then brushes out her hair and starts braiding it over again - this time in a more complex four-strand braid than her usual preference, one she can coil at the nape of her neck. She's trying to do just that when she hears footsteps outside the door.

"It's open," she calls, peering in the mirror hung inside her wardrobe door.