It is a hint that she was once one of those children who danced to the organ-grinder.

Those grotesque and lumbering steps are all that is left of the promise of childhood.

In the befogged recesses of her brain has arisen a fleeting memory that she was once a girl.

The crowd closes in.

Little girls are dancing beside her, about her, with all the pretty graces she dimly recollects, but can no more than parody with her body.