[10: An emotion, but without using the word of the emotion itself]

She left the house quietly. Nobody was awake yet, and she'd managed to make
tea without more than the faint click of the stove lighting itself.

The dawn was just breaking the gentle pale grey, subtly different from the
grey of overcast skies. Expectant, she thought. It felt expectant.

The air was cool and wet, the dew coated the trees by the sidewalk, and
occasionally, one would slough off the damp in a shower of droplets.
Different than rain, about the same difference the dawn was from overcast.

She stepped under a tree just as it sloughed off, a flurry of tiny droplets
and a few small leaves greeted her, landing in her hair, not enough to wet,
but enough to make a tiny halo of reflecting droplets when she saw herself
in the windows of shops as she passed them.

She stepped into the square just as a dazzling burst of golden light broke
over the rooftops, bathing her in sudden brightness. She closed her eyes and
let it in. Sun, quiet waking sounds, cars, still hushed in the damp air. A
bus making its first pass at its route.

She smelled cigar smoke, and moments later, the rustle of a newspaper and a
loud inhale.

A man in a brown suit and brown hat stood there. He wasn't tall, and he
wasn't wide. His suit hung just a little loose on him, and was just a little
wrinkled. He had a wide nose, and a bristly grey moustache.

"It's a beautiful morning!" he wasn't unpleasant to hear speak. He spoke
loudly, but it didn't jar.