"The only blot on the town's reputation was the girl Rizka," notes the narrator: She was skinny as a smoked herring; longshanked, bright-eyed, with cheekbones sharp enough to whittle a stick. She had nothing, but was generous with it. She preferred laughing to crying; she could whistle every birdsong, and the birds whistled back at her. She lived by her wits and, since they were very quick wits, she lived not too badly.

Rizka's clothes bother some of the inhabitants of Greater Dunitsa: Rizka wore her usual costume: a pair of homeless breeches she had rescued; boots cracked and split, hardly a memory of their former selves; an old army coat so outnumbered by patches the original garment had surrendered; her black hair tied with a string, a felt hat cocked on top.

Particularly worrisome are the patches, because they also serve as pockets...