Marian held shears in her left hand, and the glass-eyed body of a mallard in her right. The mallard was mournful. Its downy wings were rigid and its stiff beak was open in one silent endless quack.
Marian stood, holding these things, in front of her workbench. Her workbench was very useful. It held a sewing kit with needles and strong thread; a plush, fluffy mallard with a smile on its decapitated face; and a storybook about a duck who was happy all day long.