1905. Rebecca Mary took another stitch. Then another. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, she counted aloud, her little pointed face gravely intent. She waited the briefest possible space before she took ninety-nine. It was getting very close to the Time now. At the hundred an' oneth, Rebecca Mary whispered. It's almost it. Her breath came quicker under her tight little dress. Between her thin, light eyebrows a crease deepened anxiously.