The Night of Elspeth LeHiri

In her garden while Mrs. LeHiri still sleeps, the scent of nightstock fades with the cool of night. Dew forms on roses and geraniums,. Slugs creep toward lettuce plants, avoiding a line of virulent bait. A silent cat, far outside its own domain, waits for the emergence of the rockery mice. Is Elspeth awake, too? She wonders that. Does Elspeth, in her city precinct, share the same pale shade of dawn? is there, as well, the soft swish of a milk-dray, a cardboard-banging, a church-bell chiming-five?