She planned her day.

She planned her day. She would walk the mile and a half into the village, do a little shopping, visit the church, buy a newspaper, wander back, read her novel, eat a little lunch, then go and lie on a rug on the long grass in the paddock. The next day, she would be more ambitious perhaps, she would go for a real walk, a mapped walk. But today, she would be quiet. The luxury of knowing that nothing and no one could interfere with her prospect made her feel momentarily a little tearful. Had she really been so unhappy for so long? She saw the little long-tailed finches fluttering in the tree. They had returned to charm her.