Bloor Line, a new year

Caucasian woman, mid 40s, with auburn hair and nose ring, wearing black turtleneck, jean jacket and black Converse, using Toronto Symphony Orchestra stub as bookmark.

War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy (Modern Libray)

Part way through Part One:

After seeing the governor, Prince Vassily sat down on a chair in the hall alone, crossing one leg high over the other, leaning his elbow on his knee, and covering his eyes with his hand. After sitting so for some time he got up, and with steps more hurried than his wont, he crossed the long corridor, looking round him with frightened eyes, and went to the back part of the house to the apartments of the eldest princess.

The two friends hadn't spoken in years, their last exchange a muted attempt at reconciliation. She'd held the receiver loosely in her hands, the phone ringing into an empty apartment. The tinned greeting confirmed the relationship was still going, strong or otherwise she couldn't know. She waited for the beep and spoke. She had an extra ticket and would leave it at the box office. She wouldn't offer it to anyone else. If she could make it, that would be great. No pressure. No expectations. And, oh, she'd never gotten around to thanking her for the jam last Christmas. She'd always meant to call. It was exceptionally good.