Let's leave Rosil to sleep himself back to health and let's go back and see how Rosie is faring.
She walked down the stairs to the front door. She goes out into the street. She has a subtle smile on her face, a party membership card in her pocket and new suede shoes on her feet. Exquisite, soft as chammy, light beige in colour.
She coughs. Barking has strained her vocal chords a little. But she is still smiling and looks directly into the cold winter sun. It reminds her of a very strong light bulb. But the sun is better than a light bulb, she thought, because it is so much stronger. And you don't have to pay for it. The disadvantage, however, is that it shines when it likes, and not only when Rosie needs it. But she knows that you can't expect much when the price is so cheap. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, she sighs.

"What was that horrible barking and howling all about?" an old woman asked, standing in the doorway, "I've lived her for years and never heard such a row. Strange things have been happening here ever since we had that office on the first floor," she whispered. Rosie and old woman looked at each other.
The old woman had a huge, eternally watery eyes. Over the years not only wrinkles but a few dark hairs had taken up residence in her face. A brown woven scarf covered her throat, above a shabby overcoat. Her hands were trembling. In addition to the scarf and the coat she was also the possessor of a chequered bag on wheels, propped against the wall of the building.
"We had a bit of a bark," Rosie replied baldly, "Do you find that strange for some reason?