Madhu moved slowly and deliberately. With her eyes cast to the ground, and her head in the clouds, she made of herself a small target. It occurred to Helen that this could be by dint of her age, rather than either her race or her gender. There was a massive element of politeness in the body language.
Helen had ensconced herself at a table in the almost deserted forecourt of the old Customs House building. From there she could indulge one of her favourite past-times – people watching.
A smile played around the edges of her mouth. “I wonder if she is aware of the irony of that bloody bag!” Helen's interest, though, was in the stick. Madhu was holding it in an “all the better to hit you with” hold, not to add to her surefootedness.
“What a magnificent crook. I’d love that on my side in a dark alley.”