April is Bellow Month at Radio Free Mike

She wore her everyday clothes and shawl again, so that everything was to be presumed back to normal or almost so; whereas it was actually nerve-silent, and her face, attempting to be steady and calm, was blenched as if she really had lost blood, or else her long-time female composure at the sight of blood. She had to have been horribly moved and scared to lock her door, but apparently she had decided that she had to come back and, moony-pale as she was, turn on her influence. But there was something missing. Even the frazzled, pursy old bitch whose white wool had gone brown around her eyes, took a slow walk with clickety claws, as if she sensed that new days were pushing out the last of an old regime, the time when counselors and ministers see the finish of their glory, and Switzers and Praetorian Guards get restless.