Marion is standing on the far corner of the Square, looking at all of the lights. She's a little bit away from the library - only a block or two. Right now, she's caught up in the awe of it all. There is a temptation for her to flip back the viel in front of her face and look at it unprotected from the people passing her by. Though she's lived here all of her life, she can't recall ever having been here by herself before - in fact the times she's been here at all are countable with ease. Her purse is held firmly in her hands, arm through the straps and hands on the bag itself.

Her father would be so upset with her but her interview went well and she's feeling giddy with it.

As she's staring at the lights, a man in a hurry collides with her, knocking her down. Marion falls to the ground, still holding on to her purse, tightly. The man doesn't even stop to appologize. There is a sharply inhaled breath as she can feel she's skinned her knees through her stockings. The sting of the scraped skin is suddenly lessened by the thought of having ruined the expensive item of clothing.

And the disapproval of her father at her having left the library unaccompanied.