While he dragged his straight razor over the grizzly stubble of his neck, leaving his great grey beard intact, Kelty's grandfather stretched his skin and contorted his face to create smooth surfaces. It always appeared so uncharacteristically comical that Kelty felt bubbles of laughter rising right from her toes that threatened to erupt from her mouth.

She clamped shut, refusing to giggle. She even pinched her arm behind her back.

The great oaf, said the Voice. Making donkey faces like that.

Kelty pinched harder.

"Stop making that pained face," her grandfather said. "If you have to use the biffy, go on then. Don't stand there making faces."

Kelty ran outside, but not to the outhouse.