And she realised it was the same with lives. Mrs Elm repeated something she said earlier.
“Never underestimate the big importance of small things.” This was useful, as it turned out.
“I want,” she said, “a gentle life. The life where I worked with animals.
Where I chose the animal shelter job – where I did my work experience at school – over the one at String Theory. Yes. Give me that one, please.”
A Gentle Life
It turned out that this particular existence was quite easy to slip into.
Sleep was good in this life, and she didn’t wake up until the alarm went off at a quarter to eight.
She drove to work in a tatty old Hyundai that smelled of dogs and biscuits and was decorated with crumbs,
passing the hospital and the sports centre, and pulling up in the small car park outside the modern, grey-bricked, single-storey rescue centre.
She spent the morning feeding and walking the dogs.
The reason it was quite easy to blend into this life was at least partly
because she had been greeted by an affable, down-to-earth woman with brown curly hair and a Yorkshire accent.
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