"She went about the familiar task of making biscuits. The feel of the flour and golden butter as she worked them together the big mixing bowl was good again . . . .
She smiled dreamily as she measured the water, ice cold from the spring in the back yard, and stirred her batter daintily with a silver knife, touching it lightly as if she were weaving a charm over it."
--Grace Livingston Hill, Blue Ruin