I have a picture in my mind’s eye:

A woman is sat at a treadle sewing machine, a half eaten can of tuna by her side. A cool draught passes through the window frame and kisses the flame of the scented candle. That kiss fills the room with a golden glow for a second, but to her it seems to last for hours. She bathes in its glow. Closing her eyes she feels transported from the dimly lit room to the open seas. She sails. Piles of fabric become dolphins by her side, cutting through the water their colours merge like an oceanic quilt. She speaks but the words go unheard. She knows she has a lot to say so tries again. Henry puts down his glass of wine and reaches out to her. He tilts her head, as if to kiss, and slowly removes the gas mask. “What was that Hon?”