Sunlight on a Broken Column - pg. 59

Once again Kariman, the bangle-seller, found herself welcome. Fat and eternally laughing she rolled along under the weight of the large wicker basket she carried on her head. When she squatted on the floor and pulled away the red cloth from her basket, the light danced and glittered and lay within bangles of every colour, warm and passionate, cool and delicate, silk spun, heavy and fluted, gold-banded, gold-speckled bangles, for tiny wrists and fat wrists. Her fat fingers gently coaxed delicate bangles over the least flexible of hands to fit tightly round the wrist. It took time, but what was time for but to gossip, to joke, to choose circlets of coloured glass for us and then the maid-servants.