The Dressmaker

A slim young woman stepped lightly into the fog. Her hair was lush about her shoulders, and she wore a beret and an unusually cut overcoat. ‘Very smart,’ thought the sergeant.

A skeleton head wearing a tea cosy turned on a grubby kapok pillow. The mouth gaped like a charcoal hole, and sunken eyes gazed at her.
Molly Dunnage, mad woman and crone,

Soon the little weatherboard house stood stump deep in rubbish.

Molly Dunnage, mad woman and crone, said to her daughter, ‘You’ve come about the dog have you? You can’t have him. We want to keep him.

Molly Dunnage, mad woman and crone, said to her daughter, ‘You’ve come about the dog have you? You can’t have him. We want to keep him.’

‘I’m a seamstress and dressmaker, Sergeant Farrat.’

‘Your mother … doesn’t get out these days,’

over the strange woman she thought was feeding her poison.
Again Tilly stood on the veranda, the breeze pressing her trousers against her slim legs. Below her, s

‘Does anyone know you’re coming, Myrtle?’ asked the sergeant.
‘My name is Tilly,’ she said. ‘Everyone will know soon enough.’

She seemed strong, but damaged.