When she took them out, rubbed on a little grease and polished them--there they were! They would have our names, flowers, birds, animals, all in pale yellow, deep rich brown, almost red, and perfectly beautiful colours, while you could hunt and hunt before you found everything on one egg.

And sometimes the onion skins slipped, and made things of themselves that she never put on.
I was coming from the bin with an apron full of skins and I almost fell over.

I couldn't breathe for a long time.

I danced on my toes, and held my mouth to keep from screaming.

On the garret floor before me lay a little piece of wet mud, and the faintest outline of a boot, a boot about Leon's size.