It was fortunate that Mrs. Agwambo had, in what she would have thought uncharacteristic of herself, walked straight onto the carpet in her high and pointed heeled shoes, for the door she had just gently pushed shut narrowly missed her as it violently swung open. Mrs. Agwambo turned to see who it was, her forehead wrinkling in disapproval. Auntie, who had flung the front door open, did not come in. Breathing heavily, she leaned forward, most of her weight falling on her right hand which firmly gripped the handle of the door it had shot after and reined back. ‘There’s a letter for Bebi’s father,’ Auntie said, then paused to catch her breath, before continuing, ‘on the sideboard.’
Mboya, T. Michael, The Letter, Kunapipi, 34(1), 2012.