Although it was so brilliantly fine -- the blue sky powdered with gold and the great spots of light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques -- Miss Brill was glad that she had decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now and again a leaf came drifting -- from nowhere, from the sky. Miss Brill put up her hand and touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel it again.