The shop was empty when she walked in, which momentarily shook her confidence. She had wanted to passively observe the woman, and she wasn't sure she was bold enough to ring a bell or call for her. She certainly wasn't interested in any of the wares. She could pretend to browse and see whether anyone came out, or she could abandon this effort and leave.
But someone came in behind her, who apparently worked here. Her outfit was simple, but her eyes were red. She'd been crying — over Finlay, presumably, if this was Miss Fogg. That or she was a drug addict. Francesca wasn't ruling anything out.
"I'm — just browsing," she said, taking a step aside so that the woman could move past her (a tall order, given the sheer girth of this black poof mourning skirt). "For a birthday present."
But someone came in behind her, who apparently worked here. Her outfit was simple, but her eyes were red. She'd been crying — over Finlay, presumably, if this was Miss Fogg. That or she was a drug addict. Francesca wasn't ruling anything out.
"I'm — just browsing," she said, taking a step aside so that the woman could move past her (a tall order, given the sheer girth of this black poof mourning skirt). "For a birthday present."
