Now her voice, rasping, confident, would be on the phone in the mornings. “We are going to Mecca. Do you want anything?” When the coast was clear she would come downstairs, veiled for the minute’s journey, and drink coffee with me. She would throw off her abaya inside the front door, and reveal her Levis and tight T-shirt underneath. “You ought to get one of these,” she would say, dropping the black cloak on the sofa. “Lots of English women wear them. You can just throw them on over any old things that you’re wearing.”

Hilary Mantel, A Memoir of My Former Self-…, loc. 85