her eye caught by a figure in the top left-hand corner It was the picture of a girl. She was painted sideways on, her body in profile. She wore a rich yellow striped dress and her hands were outstretched, clasping a plate of flowers and food. But it was the face that fascinated Rashida: the long, straight black hair, and fringe cut straight across, and the eyes outlined with black kohl Rashida shivered, She could feel the hair rising on the back of her neck, and her hands had gone cold and clammy It wasn't the girl from the mirror. Too old for one thing and too grand. But it was like her Rashida feverishly turned back to the other photographs. She stared down at the painted coffin, then at a model of a bakery. The wooden figures were tiny. She could barely make out what they were doing She glanced down at the inscription, but she didn't have to read it. She knew what it would say. She knew how they'd made bread in Ancient Egypt. She'd seen them Rashida swallowed, her mouth dry She forced herself to stay calm. She was imagining it all. She had remembered this picture from school, and had had a dream about it That was all. It was easily explained All the same. Rashida couldn't wait to get out of school to look at the mirror again. It was sitting in her school bag right now, where she'd put it so that she could show Iman She reached down to touch it, and felt lman's elbow jab her in the ribs.