When she got off the bus the strong wind whipped the heads of the roses. They jigged about as if they were being slapped, so she opened her coat and held them close to her breast to protect them. The wind buffeted her as she walked from the bus stop past rows of headstones, but she didn't care. Indeed, if it wasn't for the flowers, she wouldn't have noticed the wind, for Mrs Ely appreciated this tranquillity, felt it soft and welcoming. She always enjoyed the difference between this haven of tranquillity and rest and the heartless and noisy streets.