'Why, Cecilia', said Hetty,' is it such a bad painting ? i know nothing about art, but I thought it looked nice and bright I'll take it down if you like.... but I do wish we had an onion.' But the miniature painter was crying her heart out. Something was worrying, her, that was clear. Hetty had accepted it long ago that she was a Shoulder. Some people are heads, some are feet, some are backs. Hetty was a shoulder-a shoulder to cry on. it was a sharp,thin shoulder, but all her life people had cried on it.